by Paul Neuhaus
“Aren’t you open today?”
Taft nodded. “Yeah, we’ll be done by then. Anyway, the kid can handle it ’til we’re finished.”
“What if he wanders into the back room and sees us talking to a dragon or some shit?”
“Dragons aren’t real, silly. Besides, he’s one of us.”
“He’s a wizard?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I mean he’s got some skillz, but calling him a wizard would be generous.”
“Did you just say ‘skillz’ to me? With a z?”
By that time they were in the strange space below the store. “I did,” he said.
Darren turned on the overhead light and Quinn shut the trapdoor. “Can we start with some Q&A?” she said.
“I don’t see why not…”
“I saw Sato again.”
Taft’s brow furrowed. “That’s neither a Q nor an A.”
“Don’t get technical. I saw him outside the Friar’s Club.”
“He was following you?”
“No, he was out cruising for high school girls. Of course he was following me.”
“What’d you do?”
“I talked to him. Told him I wasn’t afraid of him.”
Darren stepped inside the circle painted on the floor. “Step inside the circle, please.” After Henaghan complied, he went on. “I’m not sure that was a good idea, Quinn. In fact, I think it might’ve been a bad idea. Here’s the thing with Chuck Sato. He hates broads. I mean he hates ‘em. He actually gets a charge out of a woman saying, ‘I’m not afraid of you!’ It’s that much sweeter when he makes them afraid of him. Then he degrades them, then he kills them. That’s his shtick. Strike fear, degrade, murder. Lather, rinse, repeat.”
The girl shrugged. “What’s done is done. Tell me what the ring’s for. On the floor.”
“That,” Taft said. “Is your standard issue Circle of Protection. Did you ever play Dungeons & Dragons?”
“Oh God, no.”
“Figures. Did you ever see a vampire movie where the vampire can’t enter a church because it’s hallowed ground?”
Quinn nodded, unable to think of a specific example but understanding what he meant in spirit.
“Think of the circle as hallowed ground, protecting us from vampires. It works even when we’re in the Astral Plane.” With that, one of Darren’s luminous cosmic vaginas appeared next to them. This time it came to them, enveloping them both until they were suspended in the black of space. “It’ll be easier to show you. Do some magic.”
“Do some magic? Just like that?”
“Yeah, you gotta start some time.”
Henaghan grinned at him, raised her palm level with her chest and caused a small fireball to appear there.
Taft cocked his head. “Wait. I didn’t show you how to do that. How’d you do that?”
Quinn shrugged her shoulders. “I did it the other night when Sato came at me out of the shadows.”
“Did you throw it at him?”
“I didn’t have to. He backed down.”
Darren laughed. “I promise you: he did not back down. You’re not far enough along to frighten the likes of Mr. Sato.” He rubbed his hands together. “Anyway, congratulations. You’re developing mastery over maya and its effects on the real world. Now hold it.”
“Hold it?”
“Yeah, keep it floating there.”
Quinn nodded, turning her green eyes to the little ball of fire floating above her hand. It flickered and danced, erratic in its size and volume. She knew that’s what Taft was testing her for—how long she could keep it going and how consistent she could keep it. It fluttered and sparked but did not go out. With deep concentration she brought it back to its former size. “How long do you want me to do this?” she said.
“’Til I tell you to stop.”
Henaghan nodded again, aware for the first time that sweat was flowing from her forehead and down the bridge of her nose. “Just keep it going? Do you want me to make it bigger?”
“I’m gonna ignore the obvious double entendre there so as not to end up in Wizard Human Resources.”
Quinn sighed. “I don’t see—”
Then it happened. A loud “thwack!” followed by a bright flash. Then another, and then another. Without letting the flame go out, the girl tried to process what was going on. She quickly saw. Phantasms orbited them and occasionally made a rush at her fire. An invisible sphere surrounding Taft and herself stopped them every time.
“That’s the Circle of Protection,” Darren said. “The Vidyaadhara are attracted to the magic you’re Channeling. The truth is, they’d tear you apart if you kept doing what you’re doing.”
“What’m I doing?” Henaghan asked, wide-eyed as another phantasm slammed into their shield.
“Most spells aren't maintained this long. The longer you Channel magic, the more chance you have of attracting hungry Vidyaadhara. And, by the way, as an aside: Phantasms, Asura, all the creatures that evolved in the Astral Plane… They’re all mostly magic. Like we’re mostly water.”
“Can I stop now?” Quinn said, meaning the fire ball.
“I think that’d be a good idea,” Darren said.
Henaghan doused the flame and lowered her hand. Confused phantasms drifted away. “So, Channeling for too long is risky.”
“Yes. And?”
“If you’re gonna go into the Astral Plane, it’s a good idea to have a Circle of Protection.”
Darren raised a finger. “Ah. Not just the Astral Plane. Remember: the membrane between our world and this one is porous. Porous enough for phantasms to squeeze through. Meaning that if you cast a spell for too long in the Physical Plane, you could get jumped.”
“So, what, I should carry a Circle of Protection with me at all times?”
“Nope. Not practical,” he said. “Just be aware that Channeling is a balancing act.”
“What about if I had, I dunno, a magic item that does Circle of Protection for me.”
“Items can be infused with maya, but it’s some high level shit. Way beyond most of us.”
“Okay, well, speaking of protection and things you didn’t teach me, check this out…” With that, she recreated the bubble she’d made around herself while showering.
“Nice!” he said. “How’d you figure out how to do that?”
“I didn’t figure it out. It just happened. Something was gonna hit me in the head.”
“You’re a fucking star pupil,” Darren said. “I bet you find a use for that before too long. But shut it off for now. So as to avoid a hungry phantasm attack.”
“Check,” Quinn said, banishing the bubble of force around her. “I do have a couple of questions...”
“Shoot.”
“David Olkin put me in this mess. Between a rock and a hard place, as you said. Why isn’t he teaching me?”
“Two reasons,” Taft said. “Number one: He’s a selfish little shit. Number two: Because he can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Verbic founded the Guild. That means all its members are tied to Reggie. To some extent, he can read their thoughts. If Olkin taught you he’d have to worry the whole time that Verbic would get hip and burn you both down. Also, David didn’t want to taint you. Since there’s that connection, he would’ve put… Verbic-stink on you which I don’t think would’ve helped their cause. You’d’ve gone to kill him and, somehow, Verbic would’ve been able to turn Olkin’s taint to his advantage.”
Quinn laughed. “I wanna talk to Wizard H.R. You just said ‘Olkin’s taint’ to me.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“Okay. So, he tapped you because you’re a neutral third party?”
“Not neutral,” Darren said with a head shake. “Do you remember how I told you there was a schism back in the day? How some of the priests rebelled against the Asura?”
Quinn nodded.
“One group, the rebels, were called the Jihma. It means morally crooked or deceitful. The other
group, the loyalists, were called the Dharmin. It means pious or faithful. The Asura came up with those names. Again, if you wanna put it in pop culture terms, the Jihma are the Jedi and the Dharmin are the Sith. At least from my point of view. I’m from the Jihma tradition.”
“So, you’re a Jedi Knight?” Quinn said with a twinkle.
Taft smiled. “Yes, I’m a Jedi Knight. Without a lightsaber or a spaceship or robes or any of the other cool trappings of a Jedi Knight. The truth is there are almost none of us left, and I barely know what I’m doing. By most yardsticks, I’m the worst possible teacher you could have. Except that there isn’t anyone better. At least in the three-two-three area code.”
“Where would I have to go?”
“There’s a guy in France that’s supposed to be pretty badass.”
“Swell.”
“I know. Since ‘Jihma’ and ‘Dharmin’ both sound a little goofy, they’re gotten periodic idiomatic updates. In the United States, you’ll most often hear ‘Tilted’ for Jihma and ‘Resolute’ for Dharmin. I’d like to say both terms are used with irony, but I can’t be sure about the Dharmin. Those fuckers have zero sense of humor. Also, just for the sake of being a completist, there is a third faction. Humans—as in non-magic-users—who think the world would be a better place if there was no mystical horseplay. Who knows? They might be right. Anyway, I doubt you’ll ever encounter them. Check this out…” Taft raised his hands, palms facing up. A symbol made of flame appeared above each hand. The symbol on the left looked like a Y with a horizontal line drawn across its top. “This,” Darren said. “Is the Yam. It’s the symbol of the Tilted.” The symbol on the right looked like two conjoined squiggles with a diamond floating over both. “This the Ham. It’s the symbol of the Resolute. You might as well commit them to memory. You might see them again. Any other questions right now?”
“That’s all I got for you,” Quinn said. “Show me something.”
Taft shook his head. “Uh-uh. You show me something. You’re so smart. You copied my fireball trick. What else ya got?”
“Just anything?”
“Anything within reason. Don’t turn me into a newt or anything.”
“Could I actually turn someone into a newt?” Quinn asked, hopefully.
“No. Transmutation isn’t in our bag of tricks. This ain’t Harry Potter.”
Quinn thought for a moment and then a tiny slit appeared to their right. Darren turned and the shaft of light shining from the tear in space lit his face. “Good,” he said. “Keep doing what you’re doing only more.”
Henaghan grinned. “You are a lousy teacher.”
“I told you.”
Quinn deepened her concentration, and the slit grew taller, projecting more light. She tried not to think about what would happen if it took her too long to open the portal. Surely, the phantasms would return. Once the mystic doorway was big enough to admit both she and her mentor, she moved it through space until it swallowed them both.
In an instant, they were floating above the Cauldron. They could see the black smears of the orbiting Asura far away.
“Excellent,” Darren said.
A short time later, Quinn and Darren shut the trapdoor and exited the storeroom. “By the way,” Taft said. “Did my friend Glen have anything useful to say?”
Henaghan burst out laughing. “Oh, shit. I almost forgot. Glen fucking hates you!”
The heavy-set man flushed. “Oh. He, um, shared some gossip did he?”
“He said you knocked-up his sister when your magic condom broke. He said you skipped out and left the two of them with some kind of mystic freak-baby.”
Darren, still embarrassed, smiled and ran his fingers through his yellow hair. “Careful. That’s my child you’re talking about.”
“So, it’s true?”
“‘Fraid so. But I thought Glen would put it aside to help someone new to the trade.”
“That’s a pretty big ask. Maybe you oughta man-up and go over there.”
Darren wagged his finger. “See, now, that’s a big ask. I don’t man-up. Ever. I’m a self-involved coward from way back.”
Quinn narrowed her green eyes at the older man. “How many mystic freak-babies do you have?”
“Just one. That I know of.”
Ordinarily, Quinn wouldn’t let a deadbeat dad off the hook so easily, but something about Taft’s case struck her funny. She covered her smiling mouth and passed Darren’s Acolyte du Jour arriving for his day of work. “You want I should make a soda run?” the ADJ said.
“What’d I tell you on day one?” Taft said. “Every day starts with a soda run.” Darren turned to Quinn. “Stupid is as stupid does.”
Talk of liquid refreshment settled into Quinn’s forebrain like a posthypnotic suggestion. She walked to the outdoor mall at the corner of Hollywood and Highland called, oddly enough, “Hollywood and Highland”. Moving through sparse foot traffic, she mounted the stairs into the central courtyard, an elaborate affair made to look like D.W. Griffith’s Babylon set from Intolerance. The Starbuck’s was on the left and so, coincidentally, were David Olkin and Mia Henaghan. The couple shared a table. Quinn’s brain didn’t immediately register the anomaly. When it did, she hit them both with a withering stare. “Oh hey, you two. Fancy seeing you here when I didn’t even know you knew each other.”
Olkin tried to smile. “Yeah. Isn’t it weird?”
Quinn pulled out a metal chair and sat down at the table, making its occupants all the more uncomfortable. “Taft’s given me some detail,” the elder Henaghan said “You and I are gonna talk. In the presence of judge, maybe.”
“C’mon, Quinn,” Mia said. “What if—”
“Shut up, Mia.” Quinn returned her attention to Olkin. “So, what, on top of everything else, you’re dating my sister?”
David squirmed. “Not on top of everything else. More as an unrelated side note to everything else.”
Quinn stared at him, unfazed. “You’re hilarious,” she said. “You put me in a do or die situation, then you fuck my sister. What’s next? Maybe you two could come piss on my grave when the time comes.”
Mia took Quinn’s hand. “Would you please listen to yourself? We’ve got to get you somewhere. Have you talk to someone.” The younger girl didn’t have most of the pieces, but Quinn wasn’t going to let her off for being ignorant.
Quinn shook off Mia’s hand. “Mia, you’re a slut. You’ve been a slut since you were fourteen. This isn’t even the first time you’ve dated a fossil. When it comes to cock you’re a real ‘I’ll try anything kinda gal’. Which might be weird in light of your recent attacks on the white male patriarchy, I’m not sure.” Quinn turned to Olkin. “None of the family’s ever met any of Mia’s boyfriends because none of them’ve been around long enough to make plans. We used to say, ‘Who’s Mia dating now?’ ‘I dunno… What time is it?’ Trust me, you are no trailblazer when it comes to this young lady.”
David grinned, trying to defuse the situation. “Are you saying I have poor taste in women?”
“No question about it.”
Mia folded her arms in front of her chest. “I’m sitting right here.”
The elder Henaghan ignored her. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s cut the crap. What’re you—“ A bird with bad timing interrupted Quinn. A little blue bird with a bright red head. It landed on the table between the couple and their interrogator. It cocked its head and looked right at Quinn. Quinn extended her finger. This time, the tiny creature leapt up and perched on her digit.
The trio sat regarding the bird a full minute before anyone spoke.
“Since when are you Doctor Doolittle?” Mia said.
Quinn looked at Olkin. “Fun fact: This bird doesn’t exist.”
“Huh?” Olkin said without taking his eyes off the little thing.
“No birds matching this description live in North America.”
“And yet here it is,” Mia said sarcastically.
“There’s this one, and there�
��s the two or three hundred others that camped outside my living room window the other day. I wanna know why this bird—that’s a figment of Nature’s imagination—figures so prominently in the goings on of late.” The bird flapped its wings and jetted away. The three of them watched as it flew between the enormous Babylonian elephants looming over the courtyard.
Olkin straightened in his chair. “Search me. I’m not a… doctor of birds.”
“An ornithologist.”
Mia rolled her eyes. “I knew you were gonna correct him.”
“And I knew you were gonna fuck your way across Los Angeles until you got to people I know.”
David shrank. “There’s some tension between you two...”
“That’s none of your business,” Quinn said. “Unless you’re about to become my brother-in-law.”
Mia snorted. “Yeah. Right.”
Quinn flashed a shark-grin at Olkin. “Your fifteen minutes are almost up.” Quinn glared at David, then at Mia. She threw up her hands. “You know what? I don’t even care. Mazel tov. I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
She walked around their table, resuming her trek to Starbuck’s.
After she got her drink, she pointed herself back toward where she’d left her car. Giving David and Mia a wide berth, she found herself thinking of Molly Blank.
Latte in hand, in the parking lot behind Hollywood Boulevard, Quinn opened the address book in her iPhone. There, in the Bs, was Molly. Still discombobulated from her encounter with Mia and David, Henaghan tapped Molly’s name and put the phone to her ear.
Molly didn’t say “Hello” she said, “Quinn Henaghan.”
Quinn smiled a high school girl’s smile. The buzz she felt was simultaneously exciting and embarrassing. “Yes, ma’am,” she said.
“Don’t call me ‘ma’am’. I already know I’m older. I’m practically Mrs. Robinson. What’re you doing? Right now?”
“I’m sitting in a parking lot impulse-dialing the strange woman I met the other day.”
“Good,” Blank said. “You need more impulse-dialing in your life. If I said I wanted you to meet me at the pier, would you do it?”
“The Santa Monica pier? You mean just drive on over?”
