Today

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Mt Timpanogos

Three seconds later, Helena, Priya, and Erastus each appeared in the open doorway of a low-slung stone shed.

“Oof! You weren’t kidding, Erastus!” Helena said as she looked around her, rubbing her hands together for warmth, then pulling stray hairs out of her face as the stiff breeze changed directions.

“What a view!” Priya exclaimed as she looked around, wide-eyed.

“Barenton Springs”, a squat sign read, across the small clearing in the trees. To their left, majestic Mount Timpanogos soared another 4,000 feet or so to its 12,000-foot summit—dusted in snow, and blanketed in scrub oak, painted russet for the season.

“The carriages should be here in a moment”, Erastus smiled. “Brechenridge Village, of course, has anti-apparation and other defenses… so we’ll be riding into town. It’s about twenty minutes, over the Springs and the Ravine, and then into the village proper.”

The sound of hooves on gravel caught their attention… though it wasn’t horses that rounded the corner, but two handsome, wooden, roofless carriages. Each was suspended between eight long, spindly, wooden legs—like the body of a spider. The creatures moved with grace down the path, but stopped a stone’s throw from our three friends to surmise whether the visitors were friend or foe… passengers or prey.

Erastus stepped forward.

“Hup, hup! Azrael! We don’t have all day. You know me, now let’s get going.”

At the familiar voice, the closest of the two creatures—ridgeriders, Erastus would later call them—scampered the rest of the way and dipped its carriage low to the ground. A waist-high door swung softly open to bid Erastus and his guests enter. Erastus paused, and lifted the gray velvet bench seat to fetch heavy lap blankets for everyone. Once they were all comfortably installed—the ladies facing forward, and Erastus facing the ladies—Azrael rose and headed north, toward Brechenridge. Azrael’s companion paused a moment, then turned back and disappeared over a short rise.

The ride was smooth. Though bobbing along, suspended thirty feet in the air did take some getting used to. Priya was transfixed by the scenery. And Helena was transfixed by Priya.

From the shed, it looked as though they were in a meadow at the foot of the mountain… but from Azrael’s lofty perch, they could see that the mountain fell away another four thousand feet into a valley with a large lake, bustling with Mundane commerce. Yet here, in the shadow of the mountain? All was quiet—a bucolic idyll, floating in the sky.

Azrael paused a moment to allow a family of mountain goats to amble across the road. A few minutes later they paused again. Priya and Helena looked but couldn’t see anything. Erastus then turned himself around…

“Thestrals”, he said, matter-of-factly, and patted the outside of the carriage. “It’s alright Azrael, just go around them.”

They eventually passed an obelisk, which marked the very edge of the warded village, and Azrael halted there, in front of a cottage, and kneeled to allow their passengers to debark gracefully. The cottage was handsome and set close to the road, hugged by abundant gardens and surrounded by a low stone wall.

“Thank you, Azrael”, Helena whispered as she ran her hand along the smooth side of the beast.

“Thank you”, echoed Priya, briefly examining the unfamiliar runes that swirled over every inch of Azrael’s carriage and legs.

“The ladies will need an escort back to the port-all this evening, Azrael. Please let the others know.”

And with that, Azrael made their way down the road and into the village proper, stepping gingerly over a couple of children playing in the street. Erastus tapped the front gate with his wand and it swung wide, inviting everyone to step across the stone threshold—itself festooned with runes.

“Ward stone?” asked Priya. Erastus nodded. “Basalt?” she continued. The gate closed itself with a soft click. Erastus nodded again and motioned for the ladies to step into the deep portico that sheltered his front door. “Basalt seems a little out of place, here, no?”

The three of them stepped into Erastus’ home; warm and inviting.

“There’s actually plenty of basalt in these mountains… but I brought my ward stone back from a work trip to Iceland.”

“So many questions!” Helena chirped. “I’m trying to save them all for the interview!”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about, Léna.” Erastus smiled and went about putting away the few things he purchased, and relieving the women of their treasures.

“Erastus”, Priya said. “May we use your restroom?”

“Of course! Of course… Where are my manners?! It’s just there, on your right.”

Priya grabbed Helena by the hand and pulled her along. And as Helena closed the door, Erastus could hear the mirror greeting them both… “Ladies, eh? Well isn’t this a pleasant change of pace…”.

While the women busied themselves, Erastus walked around, flicking his wand, here and there, to clear out dust he’d missed in the softness of that morning’s light. Afterward, he brought in some late-season cut flowers from the garden and a couple of potted orchids from his greenhouse, then set about making a pile of tea sandwiches.

Twenty minutes later, Priya and Helena exited the bathroom, and Helena paused Priya in the middle of the kitchen and turned her around so her back was facing Erastus. She carefully lifted the bottom of Priya’s blouse, revealing an ornate tattoo, at the base of her spine.

”Was this here before?” Erastus asked.

“No”, Priya replied.

Erastus raised his wand and incanted some diagnostic spells, which hung in the air above Priya, pulsing.

“And?” Priya asked

“Well, it appears there’s nothing wrong, per se… but you have definitely been branded with a tramp stamp… and while I don’t speak or read Gobbledygook^[1], you’ll note that there is writing within the tattoo, itself.”

Helena suppressed a chuckle.

“I don’t think…” Helena puzzled for the right words. “I’m a little surprised to hear a man of your upbringing use the phrase ‘tramp stamp’.”

“Tramp stamp?”

Priya blinked. “Yeah. How do you know that word?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?”, Erastus dissolved the diagnostics, then walked back over to the kitchen island and returned to preparing the sandwiches. “Pre-historically, when goblins became sexually mature—males, females, hermaphrodites—their hind-quarters would magically flush with color.” Erastus’s hands mimicked a burst of color, a dollop of mayonnaise clinging precariously to the butter knife, as he whipped it around. “And then these unattached, sexually mature individuals would wander over enormous distances, looking for a mate. And that’s how they became known as ‘tramps’, in the scientific literature.” Erastus put down the butter knife and started assembling the sandwiches and stacking them carefully on a tray. “Anyway, when they found a lifemate the flush would subside and the goblin would be considered unavailable, taken—married, if you will (though, frankly, marriage is a fairly recent innovation).” Erastus nodded to himself, in agreement. “Over time, some goblin cultures transformed these simple flushes of color into very intricate tattoos. And somewhere along the way, a clever witch or wizard started calling these tattoos ‘tramp stamps’.” Erastus stepped to the sink and washed his hands. “Anyway, if it’s a true tramp stamp—and I see no reason it isn’t—it should fade when you’ve settled on a lifemate.”

The women looked at each other, as though one or the other might say something.

Priya broke the silence. “Any chance we could get the writing translated?”

“I don’t see why not. Duchess speaks and reads Gobbledygook… I could send you two with a note explaining the situation, and you could stop by Kowalski’s and see her on your way out of town, tomorrow.”

“What a great idea. That’ll be perfect, I think?” Helena looked at her blushing princess. “What do you say, Priya?”

“That should be fine. I mean… if it’s not going away before I see my family, I’d at least like to know what it says!” Priya said. With a sigh and a chuckle, she excused herself, stepped back into the bathroom, and closed the door.

“While Priya finishes up in there, why don’t we get the room ready for the interview?” Helena suggested while pulling boxes out of Priya’s handbag and restoring them to full size.

* * *

Two Days Ago

Monday, October 12, 2009

The Evening Star, Queen Anne, Seattle

Helena stood in her office with the door closed, on the phone. Priya walked by Helena’s office window, waved, and smiled. Helena smiled and winked, in return.

“No, Gemma”, Helena punctuated the dialog with her wand. “We’ve been over this before—like… a million times. I’m not interested in dating your roommate’s brother. I’m not interested in dating anyone’s brother. I’m a lesbian.”

Outside, clouds scuttled by, drawn across a turquoise sky. A very large crow paced her window ledge, watching a group of school children walking by, below.

“Yes, I dated a boy when I was sixteen. I also listened to Nickleback. They were both just phases… regrettable phases. And while I appreciate that my little sister is interested in my love life… I’m pretty sure you’re just trying to distract mom from your dating problems.”

The very large crow jumped from the ledge, and transformed into a woman in a flowing, dark green kaftan, just as she reached the ground. Then, without skipping a beat, she looked both ways, crossed the street, and walked into the hair salon. Helena could see through the shop’s large plate glass window, as the woman greeted each of the hair stylists with a hug and a kiss.

Helena ran her hand through her hair.

I wonder if Minerva can fit me in before I leave tomorrow?

Helena’s phone flashed.

“Okay. I’m done, Gemma. I’ve got a call I need to take. I’ll see you and the family at the house for Halloween. Love you.”

Helena switched lines.

“Helena Barthus… Oh, hi, Caroline! Can you hold just one second?” Helena walked to her door and opened it. “Dickie… could you please see if Minerva can fit me in for a touch-up tomorrow?”

Rickert “Dickie” Künning was the forgotten middle child of one of Seattle’s oldest Wizarding families. He loved being indispensable. Long and lanky, he’d have made a formidable cross country runner, had he ever once played a Mundane sport. Instead, as a young teen, he’d dabbled in quodpot—but never really fit on the broom. So he spent his boundless energy climbing local mountains with his two pet croodles^[2], who were littermates—brother Hell and sister Fury. Dickie’s older brother and sister had taken over most of the Family business, so Dickie was left to find his own way, career-wise. Which appealed to his adventurer spirit. And work in a bustling newsroom—especially one as well-regarded as The Evening Star—was turning out to be every bit as fun as he’d hoped.

“I checked last week. You’ve been needing a haircut for a while. And, well, no… She’s booked until mid-November.”

“Crap.”

“Just put it up in a bun. You always look good like that; very… collegial.”

Helena rolled her eyes and swung back into her office, plopping into her chair and spinning back around to look out the window at the sky, as it shifted in mood.

“Sorry, Caroline… yes, I’m well. You? How’s the beau? Did you end up going into town for the weekend?”

Small talk is the currency of friendship. Especially those tainted by business dealings.

Caroline and Helena had grown up together and now worked together on Helena’s latest project: Memcasting. Inspired by Mundane podcasts, Helena realized that they could one-up the delightful but somewhat dull audio experience with immersive and interactive recordings of interviews using memory charms, duplicated memories, and pensieves. She’d hit on the idea a year back when she had been asked by her mother to share her memories from a recent trip to Machu Picchu with the family.

But turning one memory suspended in a glass vial into 100,000 memories suspended in 100,000 glass vials would take enormous time and resources… and time and resources cost money. That’s where Caroline came in. It was Caroline who suggested having paid product placements within the interviewing space. And since most of the interviews would be in someone’s home, paid product placements were a natural fit—assuming the guest was willing. And all of them, to date, had been… a couple of guests had asked for substitute items, sure, but it was otherwise a simple matter of matching products to the personality of the person being interviewed and their intended audiences.

“So, Caroline… could you talk to your people at Procter & Gamble? I’m guessing they assumed Mr Powell was married? Anyway, he’s single, and menstrual products just aren’t a match… Mr Powell suggested some cleaning products, maybe? Hand soaps for gardeners? Maybe stain removers for work clothes?”

Helena tapped the butt of her wand on her desk, distractedly.

Db. Db. Db.

“Thank you. You’re a dear… Yup, Priya and I are booked on the night train to Salt Lake City, tomorrow evening… Yeah, I really like her. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I think there’s something there.”

Dickie poked his head in the door, and Helena motioned him to enter… then held up her index finger, for silence.

“Yeah. And my parents will totally freak; they’re still hoping that being a lesbian was a phase. Okay… I’ve got someone in my office. Time to go. Get back to me today on the P&G subs… K-bye.”

“Minerva apologizes she can’t sneak you in tomorrow… but you’re booked the second Friday in November… and Priya has been circling the newsroom, waiting for you to get off the phone… do you want me to send her in?”

“Thanks, Dickie. You’re the tops. Send her in… and, Dickie? Could you quietly do some snooping and get me her birthday? I swear it’s coming up.”

“It was August 27th”, Dickie grimaced apologetically while stepping out of the office, and waved Priya in, shutting the door behind him.

“Dickie’s the best”, Priya announced.

“I’m very lucky. I stole him from upstairs before he showed too much potential.”

Priya smiled but didn’t interrupt.

Helena blushed into her coffee.

Merlin, she’s pretty…

“So how are you doing on the books? How about the box and bottle labels?”

Helena had gotten feedback from early memcast subscribers that they wanted to read the labels on cans and bottles and stuff and to thumb through the books, while they wandered through the pensieved interviews… but how to pull that off? A bottled memory is only good as the brain that brewed it… and, well, Helena was smart and a capable interviewer… she was not, however, a details person. It was Dickie who mentioned that the new girl—Priya—was wicked good with the eidos charm for photographic memory… and that’s when Helena met Priya, properly.

… and smart.

“I’ve read the opening chapter of each of the books, under charm. Same with the labels on all our canned and bottled stuff. I’ll do that again, the morning of the interview. So… we’re good.”

“You’re amazing. You know that, Priya?”

“Thank you.”

“Okay. I need to get back on the phone… anything else?”

Priya stepped in closer and lowered her voice.

“I’m loving… whatever this is.” Priya motioned between them with her hand. “I admit I’m a little scared that traveling together might jinx us, though?”

“I’m loving whatever this is, too… and I think this trip is just what the doctor ordered.”

Helena winked at Priya, and picked up her phone, waiting for Priya to leave before turning to look back out her window.

It had started to rain, softly.

* * *

Two Days Ago

Monday, October 12, 2009

The Evening Star, Queen Anne, Seattle

Priya closed the door behind her. Helena was already in full conversation battle mode—with her silencing charms going into effect—not a heartbeat later.

“Dickie”, Priya leaned in. “Do you know when Léna’s birthday is, by chance?”

“January 30th”, he smiled. Gears turning slowly. “Priya… would you like a little advice?”

Priya hesitated. “Sure?”

“Léna’s a tough nut to crack. I should know”, Dickie patted his leather-bound desk calendar. “I keep her calendars. Both work… and social.”

“Where’s this going, Dickie?” Priya cocked her head, suspicion fluttering in the brights of her eyes.

“Nowhere”, Dickie said, then turned his back on Priya and started as if to work.

“Rickert Künning … you will tell me what you mean, or I’ll jinx you with something your white bread, homeschooled, American arse has never seen.”

Priya leveled a class-5 mother stare at the back of Dickie’s head. They were the same age, give or take, but Dickie knew a mother stare… even with his back turned. He wiped the tint of God-honest fear from his face and turned back around, smiling.

“No need to threaten me, Ms Lestrange”, Dickie smiled, broadly; a twinkle in his eye. “I’m bribable.”

“I’m going to grab a bit of lunch… what can I bring back for you?”

“Kowalski’s?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Oh, Gods! I’ve been craving one of their sausage rolls all week.”

“And some coffee?”

“Nah. I don’t drink coffee. Maybe… a hot cocoa?”

“Okay”, Priya smiled. “Hot cocoa and sausage roll for whatever it is you’re so… eager to tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Dickie was pretty sure he had come out ahead on this bargain; he would have given up the goods for a smile and some of the chocolate Priya kept squirreled away in her locked desk.

* * *

Priya paused in the ground floor lobby, looking out at the buckets of rain coming down. She pulled a sunshine yellow umbrella from her purse and charmed it back to its original size, then cast a rain repelling charm on her makeup and face. Steeling herself, she opened the door, popped open her umbrella

… and ran full speed into someone draped in a soaked green kaftan.

“Priya! My princess!”

“Nisan! You’re soaked to the bone! Let’s step back into the lobby.”

Priya opened the door for Nisan and shuffled in behind her, shaking off her own umbrella, then waving her wand to dry poor Nisan.

“You’re so sweet, Priya. Such a nice girl.” Nisan tutted, setting down her bags, before looking back up at Priya. “Where are you going in this rain! It’s fit for neither bird nor beast.”

“Nor broad, apparently.”

The two women shared a brief laugh.

“I’m heading down to grab a bit of lunch at Kowalski’s. And where are YOU coming from? You normally have a better sense of the weather than I do.”

“Yes, yes… I thought I’d beat the storm.” Still fidgeting with her hair. “Guess this old bird was in for a reminder not to think too highly of herself.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re only… what, ten years older than me?”

“Ah! No, no, Behlil and I have grandchildren now!”

And great-grandchildren, Nisan conveniently omitted. And who could blame her? At 73 she wasn’t even middle-aged for a witch. But while she aged more slowly than her Mundane backgammon friends—her hair was still a lustrous black—she wasn’t ready to call herself a great grandmother. It had taken a few years to even let her grandchildren call her néné.

“How is Behlil? I haven’t seen him since… Solstice?”

“He’s well. He’s home in Turkey for a few weeks, looking after his mother. She fell ill. And, well, Behlil is a good man. He loves his anné.”

“Well, tell him I said hello, and wish his mother a speedy recovery.”

“Not too speedy, Priya! I’m repainting the house! It’s a surprise.”

Nisan smiled mischievously.

“Circe’s pants, Nisan. Behlil must be a patient man!”

“And a fierce lover”, Nisan confided in loud whispers. “Speaking of lovers… when will we find you a woman, Priya?”

“Shush! That’s not common knowledge, Nisan.”

“Oh don’t be like that. No one cares.” Nisan waved her hands and pulled a face. “I told you, your parents will love whomever you love, will embrace whomever you embrace.”

“I wish I was as confident as you.”

“They’re from the old world, Priya… but they are not old. And even the old…” Nisan cast about for the right phrase. “can learn new tricks.”

Thunder rumbled outside, and the rain doubled down.

“Now I didn’t mean to keep you, my sweet… it doesn’t look like the rain is going to abate any time soon… I might as well apparate home.” Nisan huffed. “I can’t fly in this!”

“But you hate apparating!”

“What right-thinking witch or wizard would ever care to do that to themselves, voluntarily?! Merlin, I curse the wizard—and you know it was a wizard!—who devised that awful bit of dark magic.” Nisan sighed, and looked down at herself, and began to arrange her kaftan and bags for the gut-wrenching pop home. Then she looked up at Priya… “Orchideous” she cast, and a large white orchid flower materialized in her hand. “For your hair, my sweet girl!” she said, tucking it behind Priya’s ear with a gentle staying charm.

“You are too kind.”

“You better get going, now. The rain isn’t going to stop on your account!”

“Bye, Auntie!” Priya kissed Nisan on both cheeks. Nisan returned the favor, and then popped away.

Priya turned toward the door, looking back out at the rain.

“Circe’s pants”, she sighed, resigned, opening the door and heading back out into the rain.

Almost an hour later, Priya stood in front of Dickie’s desk.

“Your sausage roll and hot cocoa, my liege…”

Dickie turned around and stared wide-eyed at Priya.

“How does someone from monsoon country not know a proper drying spell?”

“Um. My hands are full?”

“Oh! Sorry! Sorry!” Dickie stood quickly and grabbed the bags and boxes from Priya’s dripping arms, summoned a chair from down the way, and then cast a quick-drying charm—all before Priya could even think to do it herself. “Sit with me. We’ll eat…” Dickie looked to both his sides and then at Priya, conspiratorially. “And talk.”

* * *

A Good While Back

Monday, August 23, 1915

Powell House, Haxton Place, Salt Lake City

Erastus could never sleep on the night before his birthday… for as long as he could recall, he’d toss and turn in bed, waiting for the 23rd of August to become the 24th. The simple tick-tock of a clock—Magical or Mundane—signaling that at one moment he was 10 and the next moment he was 11 was a form of magic that never ceased to cause him to wonder. Tonight he was 11 and on the morrow, he would be 12. And at church, that week, he’d dress in fresh robes and be ordained into the Priesthood of Aaron and would be invited to participate in the ordinance of the Lord’s Supper.

So tonight, he slipped out of bed—in just his underthings and a nightgown his mother had made from one of his father’s dress shirts—and walked the pitch-black halls of his home. It was late, of course, so everyone was asleep. Even the ghost of little Milton^[3], who’d come to play earlier that evening, bobbed softly on a current of ether, in the corner of the playroom. A small, ethereal doll dangled from his wee grasp.

After walking the upstairs halls, running his finger across the velvety patterns of their wallpaper, Erastus climbed to the top of the crow’s nest to look down upon the sleeping city. He could see the homes of his friends, and the paths they took through the neighborhood, as they played games. The moon was full, and in its light, Erastus could see all the way to the temple of the Lord, its six spires reaching toward the heavens. The heat of the day still hung thick in the air, and the warm breeze tempted him to sleep. No, he decided. No sleep, not yet. And he climbed back down into the House proper. Back into the familiar but moonless confines of wood, and brick, and magic.

Erastus pulled out his wand. It was the third he’d owned since turning eleven. “He doesn’t know his own strength.” “I’ve never seen a child with such deep reservoirs of magic.” “Might he be possessed?”

“Lumos”, Erastus whispered.

The tip of his wand glowed almost imperceptibly, and Erastus smiled at the control he’d been practicing. Intent, he thought The mother of magic., quoting the primer he’d been using that year.

The stairs to the ground floor creaked if you weren’t careful. And Erastus was careful. His sisters called him a sneak (and other, worse things), but his mother and aunties marveled at his “thoughtfulness” and “eye for detail”. He wasn’t exactly sure what they were on about, but he liked how they sounded when they said such things. “He’s such a bright boy, so much like his father”, they’d say “He moves with such grace”.

So tonight, extra careful not to break the spell of his birth’s eve, he stepped slowly down the carpeted stairs to the ground floor. As he made his way down, it became clear that the night wasn’t his alone after all. Mother was up, late, in the dining room. She was most likely talking to the portrait of Auntie Eliza^[4], as she did whenever she needed some advice or other. He’d learned so much about the world, sitting in the hallway listening in on these long conversations.

An early birthday gift, he thought to himself—assuming he was careful.

The wall leading from the back stair to the dining room featured an enchanted family tree that his father’s family had safeguarded for centuries—stretching from his father all the way back to the Court of Merlin. Erastus fingered the fine, raised lines and filigree as he inched his way toward the dining room and its promised trove of adult wisdom… and gossip. The small likenesses of his family members weren’t enchanted to talk or move… but they did age and, when someone died, turn silver. A few family members’ likenesses turned lupine with each full moon—one of his great uncles was currently sporting a fearsome set of fangs—and a few other, much older likenesses, sparkled vaguely at odd times of the year.

Erastus paused at the likenesses of his own family.

Father

Emrys Knight Powell

Born 1 May 1862

Married Eugenia Snow 1 Aug 1887

Deceased 24 December 1908

Mother

Eugenia Snow Powell

Born 25 September 1864

Married Emrys Knight Powell 1 Aug 1887

The Triplets

Emma Powell Ford

Born 25 December 1890

Married Heber Ford 20 December 1911

Zina Powell Hjørt

Born 25 December 1890

Married Leopold Hjørt 14 February 1914

Roxcy Powell

Born 26 December 1890

Deceased 24 December 1908

Baby Sister

Hope Powell

Born 24 May 1898

Himself

Erastus Q. Powell

Born 24 August 1903

Father’s and Roxcy’s likenesses were silver, killed in an avalanche while Christmas tree hunting nearly seven years ago at Snowdonia Cottage. Mother looked older than father—and she always would, now. Erastus leaned against the wall, his hand resting on his father’s likeness.

The clock in the library tolled 11:30 pm.

Eugenia cut an impressive figure, and Erastus could imagine his mother, clear as day, as he sat in the dark hallway. She was tall for a woman, and while she wore the fashions of the day, she refused to wear the high collared dresses many of her friends did. I am neither a preacher nor a dog!, she’d said more than once. Her piercing charcoal-colored eyes could silence any gossip her abundance of skin might provoke. She loved her fiery red hair but kept it up, as was fashionable—letting it down only in her bedroom.

The volume of the conversation in the dining room ticked up a notch.

“You’re blowing this out of proportion, Eugenia”, that was Portrait Eliza. “This isn’t the end of the world. This is a childhood infatuation; a phase, most likely.”

“He’s entirely besotted with the Udall boy. Besotted, Eliza. It’s unseemly.”

A pregnant pause.

“He’s not Morris^[5]. He’s not some fancy boy with a powerful father. Erastus is the heir to a modest home and a good name, but he’ll have to work for a living—and that means people need to trust him. No one will trust a pansy. He’ll bankrupt the family, the House.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right, Eliza: I don’t know it. I fear it… and fear feels like certainty.”

Erastus’s heart pounded in his ears and he broke into a cold sweat.

What did she see? What did I do, that betrayed my secret? I was so careful.

“I can’t give him the House. The family magic must be paid forward, must be strengthened. It will go to Hope when she marries.”

“You’re making plans for a future that you can’t even see yet. It’s too early to simply… write him off.”

Write me off?

Tears welled in his eyes and his heart screamed in his ears. Minutes passed. He couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore… but he didn’t need to. It was better if he’d never been born—or if it had been him and not Roxcy who’d gone with dad to pick the Christmas tree that year; if it had been him who’d died in a tangle of snow and branch and limb. Better if his first wand had taken him with it when it burst into flames; better if his second wand had taken him when it split asunder.

Maybe he was possessed.

Through his tears he looked down at his third wand—10 ¾ inches; yew; thunderbird tail feather core—which he’d named “Sabre”. He looked at them and sobbed… Looked at his own likeness on the wall, and then down at Sabre, again…

WRITE

He punched his likeness with his wand and the House concussed.

ME

He swung again, stabbing at where his likeness now smoldered. The House shuddered, and Eliza’s portrait dropped to the ground.

OFF

A final blow to punctuate his heart’s desire. The very stones of the House’s foundation groaned.

In an instant, Eugenia was in the hallway staring, agape, at Erastus—looking every bit her baby boy, drowning in Emrys’s shirt—who stared right back at her, his eyes clenched tight like fists, his mouth bent into a silent wail, and his whole body shuddering.

And then he was gone.

Years later, she’d describe the sound of his disapparation as the sound a load of snow makes when it thuds to the ground from a heavy-laden roof.

Thwoop.

And her whole life went with him—her baby, her boy, her true hope… Gone.

Portrait Eliza cried for help, her voice muffled from under the frame that lay face down on the dining room floor, saved by the plush Persian carpet.

Gone but not by God! for good.

Eugenia stood, whipped out her wand, and summoned her patronus—a gyrfalcon.

“Find my boy.”

Then she conjured three dozen paper airplanes, inscribed with her urgent message:

Erastus has accidentally disapparated. Help me find my boy.

—Eugenia Snow Powell

…dispatching them to every one of her friends, family, and acquaintances within the distance of a simple apparition—and then another two dozen to family members further afield… just in case.