A Good While Back

Monday, August 23, 1915

Somewhere Else

Erastus lay sprawled out on a clean wood floor, light from the full moon filtering in through a large plate glass window, behind him. His adrenaline was crashing, and he had begun to shiver uncontrollably… breathing in fits and starts, tears drying salty on his cheeks.

From the end of a long hallway, stretching out in front of him, a large figure approached. Erastus raised his wand in a quaking hand, still not present enough to speak. It crumbled to pieces, a burnt-out husk. Erastus looked at his hands, covered with soot, with blinking incomprehension… but looked up when the figure crossed into the pool of moonlight.

Abe!—his friend and father figure, confidant and coconspirator, bulwark and barber.

Abe—Abinadi Jacob Smith—stood 6 feet 1 inch, with broad shoulders and large, labor-loving hands. He was 83—middle-aged for a wizard—but looked to be in his 60s, which was fine by him. He preferred a simple short haircut to most of the styles he gave his clients, and he enjoyed how thick his hair had stayed, even now as it was just starting to gray. His one nod to fashion was a short, well-trimmed mustache.

Erastus couldn’t remember the first time he met Abe, though it was before his father died. Perhaps it was on Erastus’s Breeching Day when Abe gave him his first hair cut… or up at the Cottage, where Abe and his father had spent so much time together.

Abe kneeled close to Erastus, and the boy—even smaller now than he had been just a few hours earlier—collapsed into Abe’s ample embrace. Abe—mute almost his entire life—sighed a gentle note of comfort. Of course, Erastus was familiar with Abe’s ways, and he let himself be consoled. As he lay in Abe’s arms, he came into a proper understanding of his surroundings. He was in Abe’s barbershop: The well-swept wood floor, the three well-worn barber chairs, the long wooden bench under the plate glass window—which read “Abe’s Barbershop | Abinadi J. Smith, Proprietor | Since 1849”. And Erastus was familiar with the persistent unfolding of scents… aftershaves and hair tonics, salves of all sorts, and papier d’Armenie.

A clock struck midnight.

And just like that, Erastus was twelve years old. Never had a birthday greeted him with such dead eyes. He was out of tears. He had no strength. He was cold from exhaustion. The accidental use of so much magic had left him listless, seeched^[1]—drained of magic and vulnerable. But while his mind careened from one desperate thought to another, his body begged for sleep.

And sleep, at last, came.

Abe looked down at Erastus. His sweaty chestnut hair matted against his forehead. A small shock of silver hair blooming at his right temple. He didn’t know the particulars—they could wait for morning—but tonight had most definitely left its mark.

Abe breathed deeply. He’d never be a father, much less a grandfather. But here he was, grandfathering the son of his best friend; the grandson of his first. Lord, Abe prayed. Give me strength.

The sweet jingle of the bell suspended above the barbershop’s entrance prompted Abe to look up… a ghostly apparition of a child hung in the air, by the door, absentmindedly toying with it.

Hello Milton. Abe had never needed words with the ghost child.

“Hello, Abinadi.”

Have you come to check on master Erastus?

The boy chewed at his fingernail a moment.

“Yes, sir.”

Milton had been sound asleep, dreaming, when the commotion in the downstairs hallway had jarred him awake. He’d watched from the shadows as the whole family stumbled from their respective bedrooms and down the stairs in search of answers: Emma and her husband Heber… pretty pretty Hope, the apple of Milton’s eye… Grandmother and Grandfather Powell. A moment later, Zina and her husband Leopold appeared, having apparated from their home, across town—no doubt at the insistence of Eugenia’s house-elf. He’d even watched as Eugenia started to explain it all…

But grownups were too boring for Milton. If Erastus wasn’t here, Milton knew some places to look—places where he’d played with Erastus, Frankie, and Minerva. Such fun playmates, he thought to himself, as he passed through the outer wall of the House.

The fort in the alley was empty, but for some toys.

The fort by the creek, too. Minerva, though, had left her books there. Again.

Frankie was asleep in the pillow fort in the Udall family’s attic, snuggled up with Erastus’s battered old teddy… but Erastus was nowhere to be seen.

Main Street was dark and deserted, but Milton checked Startup Candy and McKay’s Wands, all the same.

So—of course—Erastus was at Abe’s.

“Is Erastus sick?”

He has had a terrible shock, but I think he’ll be much better in the morning. Would you like to stay here with him, while he sleeps?

“Yes, please.”

Abe carried Erastus to his sleeping quarters at the back of his shop and placed him gently in his own bed, tucking him securely under the covers. Abe paused in the doorway long enough to watch Milton lay his hand on Erastus’s brow, cooling him at the touch. Abe then grabbed an extra blanket and padded back out to the shop. There, he enchanted a paper airplane with a message for Mrs Powell:

Found Master Erastus crumpled up on the floor of my shop. He was a little disoriented, but asleep now. With your permission, I’ll let him rest and will bring him around, mid-morning.

—Abinadi Jacob Smith, Barber

He opened the door to allow the little plane to make its way to Haxton Place and Powell House, then closed and locked it tight. He found a scrap of paper and wrote a note for his morning customers:

“Apologies. Family emergency. Back at 2 pm”

… which he affixed to the window, facing outward, as he pulled the heavy curtains across the entire shopfront; closed against the coming sunrise—still many hours off. After a small glass of water, Abe climbed into his barber chair, laid it back, wrapped himself in his blanket, and fell fast asleep.

* * *

Exchange Place had been a hive of activity for a couple of hours already, a little after seven that morning, as the sun peeked above the mountain tops. Abe scrubbed his face in the wash-up sink behind his barber chair and looked at himself in the mirror.

When did I get so old?

He carefully checked the state of his shave, trimming his mustache ever so slightly. Then he leaned into the mirror, to look at the cursed scar that ran jagged and pink over his throat. He could have hidden it, had he grown out his beard… but he wanted folks to remember what the aurors had done to him, all those years ago, at Haun’s Mill^[2]—and to remember the children who hadn’t made it out alive. And all for what? MACUSA’s xenophobia. When that auror’s avada kadavra had grazed his throat that afternoon, he’d lost his ability to speak—and his innocence, too.

In the wake of the Massacre, he promised he’d never allow another child to fall victim to the dangerous stupidity of grownups.

Abe dried his hands on the white towel that hung at the sink’s side, then put some water to boil, writing an incantation on a small slip of paper and sitting it under the kettle… another under a cast-iron skillet. His rune-filled icebox kept a couple of bacon slabs nearly frozen. He pulled out a few rashers for himself and the boy, then grabbed a couple of eggs from the pantry. Breakfast was well underway when Erastus padded out from Abe’s quarters at the back of the barbershop.

“Good morning, Abe.”

Abe smiled down at Erastus, mussing his hair.

“Is that for us?” Erastus asked, pointing at the skillet, then wiping a bit of sleep from his eyes.

Abe nodded and poked at the edge of a slice of bacon with the tip of his spatula.

A few minutes later, Abe put the bacon and eggs on the table with some cherry juice, then ushered Erastus to sit. They ate in silence. The boy was ravenous, as the seeching was still taking its toll.

After breakfast, Abe brought out a towel, some soap, a toothbrush, and some dental paste, handed them to Erastus, and pointed him to the bathroom. The boy resisted, but Abe looked at him with a raised eyebrow and waved his hand in front of his wrinkled nose.

“Fine, fine. I get it! I’ll bathe…”

With Erastus in the bathroom, Abe performed his morning ablutions at his wash-up sink and dressed in a fresh change of clothes, then set about shining his shoes at the table.

Erastus came out smelling and looking much better, but still in his nightshirt and underthings. Abe waved him over to where he was sitting, on the bench by the window. He motioned for him to stand up straight in front of him, while Abe checked behind his ears, inspected the boy’s fingernails, and had a good look inside his mouth.

On the bench next to Abe, a small wooden box sat. The box was six inches on a side and made of dark wood. It was inscribed all about with line upon line of runes. It was a marvel of runecraft and hummed with magical energy—a testament to Abe’s power, precision, and pluck—and it gave a literal voice to Abe’s thoughts. But as useful as it was, the amount of mental energy it required of Abe meant that he used it infrequently.

Erastus was familiar with the box, though, and knew that it wasn’t Abe’s first. There were a few others locked away in Abe’s cabinet of wonders—the first one he’d made that had the voice of a young man; another, with an older voice, he’d made in his forties; one that spoke Spanish; and a little red lacquered box that spoke Mandarin. The little lacquered one had been an endless source of fascination for Erastus when he was several years younger.

Abe reached out to the box and gently lifted its lid. The box vibrated on the bench before speaking:

“You gave me quite a scare last night…” Abe looked at Erastus earnestly. “But I’m glad you got some sleep and some good food into those tired bones of yours.”

“Thank you, Abe.”

“You’re welcome, of course.” Abe’s voice was every bit as warm as Abe’s heart. “But there’s no need to thank me. I love you like you’re my own boy. I promised your pa I’d look after you… and I’m not about to break a promise on account of the late hour.”

Erastus looked down at the floor. Abe laid his large hands on the boy’s bony shoulders and waited for him to look up, then smiled, warmly, before continuing.

“I told your mother that I’d bring you back this morning, but before I do, I’d like for you to tell me what happened last night—to you… and to your wand.” Abe paused and Erastus breathed in, deeply. “I’m not going to sugar coat it, Erastus… apparation is serious grownup magic. Most of the good wizards and witches in this valley prefer not to apparate if they don’t have to… and a good many of those couldn’t, even if they’d tried. And even of those who try, a good many of them end up splinching themselves, eventually. So let’s just say that I’ve got a whole cauldron of questions brewing.”

Erastus looked back down at his feet and sighed. Then, after a moment, he looked at Abe and told him everything.

A few tears were shed.

By both of them.

And when it was over, Abe took Erastus’s face in his hands, and just let his love cross the silent space between them. And then he wiped Erastus’s cheeks dry with his thumb and his own cheeks with the back of his hand…

“You are a bright, beautiful, brave young man, Master Erastus. And I will ever be your friend. And if you love little Frankie Udall, I will love him too. And if your mum is wrong and you’re just friends, then that’s fine as well. We can’t help who we love.”

Abe let “love” linger a moment before continuing…

“Now your mum, she loves you. God knows she’s a bit set in her ways, but what you heard last night? It’s the type of conversation that grownups have when they’re still wrestling with their own hearts. Don’t hold a grudge for words you were never supposed to hear. But be a good boy and a loving son and let’s see how this all unfolds… Okay?”

“Okay”, Erastus said, softly.

“Now I seem to recall a certain young man is turning twelve today… and, well, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t have a present waiting for him to open this very instant!”

Erastus’s eyes lit up and he stood there, still—against all of his instincts—waiting for what was to come next.

Abe turned the boy around by his shoulders and pointed up to the top of his apothecary cabinet. And there, even in the dusk of the curtained shop, Erastus spied a brightly colored paper box with a black bow on it. He looked excitedly back at Abe, who gave him the nod.

In a burst, Erastus fetched a tall stool and climbed it, then stretched up on his toes, reaching for the box. His first try was unsuccessful. He wiped his hands on the tails of his nightshirt then tried again. He just wasn’t tall enough… But he persisted. Please, please he pled to himself, stretching again. The box began to move, in response—inching itself toward the boy’s eager grasp. Another stretch and the box was his! Erastus turned and looked at Abe in victory, then scrambled off the stool and presented the box to Abe… who passed it back to Erastus with a thin smile and a twinkle in his eye.

Golden runes ran down the center of the ribbon that folded neatly around the box and twisted into a handsome bow. Erastus pulled gently at the ribbon and the bow came undone…

Suddenly the whole room was awash in faery light; the soft sounds of a night on the prairie and a faint song, like a whip-poor-will, hung in the air; the clean scent of sagebrush filled the room; and a spectral pronghorn antelope sniffed at the box and nuzzled Erastus’s cheek softly before evaporating in a shower of golden motes of magic.

Erastus didn’t dare speak for fear of breaking the spell. Instead, he slowly opened the box lid, revealing a wand—10 ½ inches and white—nestled gently into the folds of a bit of black velvet.

A card rested on top:

To the bestest boy I know, on his 12th birthday!

This is no ordinary wand. I should know: I made it myself! It’s carved from the right femur of a chirruping jackalope—you heard its mating song when you opened the box. And around the wand, I inscribed a blessing, in runes:

Strength in your marrow and truth on your lips,
may the font of your magic never fail you.

Truth in your marrow and strength on your lips,
may this wand never fail the font of your magic.

It’s inscribed in each of our runic languages: Futhark, the Anglian runes used by most modern witches and wizards of European descent; ancient Welsh, the language of your father’s ancestors; and Deseret, the runes of magicful Mormons, like you and me—your era, your family, and your tribe. May the wand bring you as much joy as I have had in carving it.

With all my love and wishes for a long and rich life,

—Abinadi Jacob Smith, Barber

Erastus pulled the wand from the box and gave it a good swish… The room erupted in a shower of lilac flower petals, that fell in deep and fragrant drifts.

Abe’s box vibrated again on the bench, then spoke:

“I knew the wand would like you.”

Erastus squeezed Abe in a tight embrace.

“It’s the best thing ever”, Erastus replied and squeezed a little tighter. “Thank you, Abe.”

Abe stood, and reached for the broom, standing sentinel by his barber chair. He then handed it to Erastus, pointing at the carpet of flower petals that blanketed the floor. Just my luck that my charms have staying power. Erastus thought to himself as he got to work. It took an hour for all the petals to be swept up, dusted down, and otherwise corralled. Erastus collected them in several large burlap bags, and Abe stacked them in the storage room, with a wink at Erastus.

“I guess we should be going?” Erastus didn’t sound entirely convinced, himself. “I mean… well… I’m not really wanting to go home, of course… but waiting won’t change anything. That’s what you said, right?”

Abe walked to the apothecary cabinet, pulled a key from his pocket, and unlocked it. From a small drawer, he plucked an envelope and opened it… lifting a paper tag strung onto a bit of smooth, dark embroidery thread—braided, like a lanyard. He walked over to Erastus.

“What’s this?” Erastus asked.

Abe waved his hand in front of Erastus, motioning in a way to say “Look at yourself!”.

“What?” Erastus looked down at himself and pulled at his nightshirt. “Oh. I guess I’m not exactly dressed for walking around town in broad daylight.”

Abe raised an eyebrow.

“Or really walking around town at all.”

Abe nodded in agreement, then showed the paper tag to his young friend. “Invisibility” the tag read, in clear print, surrounded by tiny runes, in rings and filigree.

“Invisibility?”

Abe nodded again, then raised the lanyard up, as if to put it over Erastus’s head… but cocked his head to the side, waiting for consent.

“Yes, please!”

Abe lowered the lanyard over Erastus’s head, dropping it around his neck… and like that, the boy and the lanyard vanished.

“Am I invisible?”

You could hear his feet pad across the floor as he ran to one of several mirrors.

“Merlin’s ghost! I am! Abe, I’m—I’m invisible!”

From the sound of it, Erastus was running and jumping all around the barbershop… running up to each mirror in turn. For a moment, he was at the washbasin, experimenting with whether or not water became invisible when it came into contact with his skin. And then here and there, picking up various objects, experimenting with them as well.

“Master Erastus… It’s time we head out. I don’t want to keep your mother waiting.”

Abe could hear Erastus walk to the front door and watched as it opened as if by its own accord, the bell over it jangling brightly. Abe stood and pulled on his jacket, then wandlessly sent the talking box back to its drawer. He took one last look around the shop, then stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind him and locking it tight, running his finger over a tattoo of Deseret runes inscribed above the door handle.

The mile and a half walk from bustling Exchange Place to sylvan Haxton Place was a memory Abe cherished the rest of his life—watching as chaos unfolded along Erastus’s path through crowds, startling pedestrians, sleeping dogs, and innumerable pigeons.

Sky rats, thought Abe.

Every once in a while, Abe could hear Erastus give a little “whoop!” in celebration of his newfound freedom. Abe thanked God for intersections, though, where Erastus would wait for him to catch up. There, Abe would slyly extend his hand and Erastus and he would cross each intersection in tandem. Then, to avoid the crush of folks hurrying to work, Abe and Erastus jogged away from Main Street and through the gardens at St Catchpole^[3] and down Polecat Lane^[4], with its vegetable market already closed down for the day.

Of course, Erastus was more interested in his experiments along the way. Did anything he picked up disappear? Nope. What if he put something in the chest pocket of his nightshirt, did it disappear? Nope. At some point along the way, a balled-up wad of nightshirt and underthings materialized and then paused in mid-air.

“Well I’ll be”, Erastus’s voice said from the void. “I’m still invisible!”

Abe could just hear the cogs turning in Erastus’s head. And loved how the boy’s mind worked. But Abe thought it just wouldn’t do to have a little naked Erastus—invisible or not—blundering about the city. He grabbed the wad of clothes, then knelt down and held out the underthings for Erastus to step into, then held out the shirt for Erastus to put on. Now that he could see where Erastus’s head should be, he gently took the lanyard off Erastus and the boy popped into view, with a squeak of surprise… then Abe put the lanyard back on the boy, and he disappeared again—nightshirt and all.

“Aah”, Erastus exclaimed, having pieced together the puzzle. “So that’s how it works.” And he jogged on ahead as Abe stood and dusted off his knees, before following along behind.

* * *

Eventually.

Very eventually.

Abe and Erastus arrived at Haxton Place, a freshly-minted cul de sac filled with handsome homes belonging to several wealthy Mundane families.

But that was just on paper.

Four enchanted stone pillars stood at the entrance to the cul de sac. When witches and wizards passed through the pillars, two Magical homes dissolve into view: 27 Haxton Place, the ancestral and Magical home of the Snows… and 18 Haxton Place, the ancestral and Magical home of the Powells. And while the homes themselves weren’t even a century old, they enjoyed deep, centuries-old ties to their families’ home territories, back in England and Wales—their ward stones having each been carried across the Atlantic by their families when they left Britain for new opportunities in the Colonies… and then across the plains, when they’d fled before the murderous intentions of MACUSA.

The Snow and Powell families had joined the fledgling Mormon movement in New York. Then they fled with their coreligionists—first to Missouri, then Nauvoo, and eventually to the shores of the Great Salt Lake—hounded by MACUSA agents who were hell-bent on wiping out the Mormon scourge. Once settled in Utah, the two families built their magically infused homes next to each other.

Forty years later, Emrys Knight Powell married Eugenia Snow, and it was as though the families who had endured so much together had finally decided to make it official. But Emrys and his daughter Roxcy died in the Christmas Eve avalanche on Mt Timpanogos, and uncertainty hung in the air. It was then that the two families decided upon the best way to ensure their estates remained proper homes for Magical generations to come. They would subdivide their estates on paper, building a half-dozen or so Mundane homes, and folding the Snow and Powell Houses into the Wizarding spaces they carved out for themselves.

Yes, the whole of Haxton Place hummed with deep affinial magic^[5].

Before passing through the wards, Abe turned to Erastus and motioned for Erastus to return the lanyard, which the boy did, reluctantly. Abe placed it gently in his pocket and patted it safely, then he and Erastus stepped into Haxton Place, hand in hand.

Eugenia greeted them warmly on the steps of the House but didn’t invite Abe in.

“Thank you, Abe, for taking such good care of my boy”, Eugenia said almost in passing, as she began to urge little Erastus into the House.

Abe coughed twice, to catch Eugenia’s attention, then stepped forward, bent down, and pulled a small paper box from his coat sleeve—a note affixed to it—handing it to Erastus. Erastus read the note, with his mother reading over his shoulder:

Erastus,

These are the remains of your wand, Sabre. You didn’t mean to do them harm, so I suggest you bury them with your other two wands in the family garden. Honoring them in this way may help to repair the damage done to your relationship with their magic.

—Abinadi Jacob Smith, Barber

And strengthen your relationship with your new wand. Abe thought to himself.

Erastus handed the note to his mother, then opened the box under her careful gaze. Inside the box, which had been inscribed with requiescat in pace repeated 144 times, Abe had laid the remnants of the wand out—even the small bits and grains of soot he’d been able to gather—as one would lay out the sleeping remains of the deceased.

“That’s so sweet of you, Abe”, Eugenia fought back the tears.

Abe took her hand in both of his, and smiled at her warmly, then patted his heart.

“I’d invite you in… but it’s been a very long night”, she said in earnest. “Please forgive my manners.”

And with that, she turned, took Erastus’s free hand, paused briefly, then escorted the boy back into the House. Erastus looked over his shoulder and smiled bravely at Abe. Abe smiled back at him and gave him two encouraging thumbs up… then made a flick with his hand, as though he were waving a wand. Erastus’s eyes lit up with understanding, and he smiled.

* * *

Today

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Snowdonia Cottage, Brechenridge Village, Mt Timpanogos

An hour after they started staging their paid product placements, Helena, Priya, and Erastus called their little deception good.

The conceit was simple: After a morning of shopping and time in the garden, Erastus had stepped into his home to be interviewed by The Evening Star. A reusable grocery bag was artfully poised on the counter, with a few provisions peeking out. The pantry door was open, and cans of goods were thoughtfully stacked inside, their labels all facing forward. A few boxes of herbal teas were stacked on an open shelf in the kitchen. Next to the sink, a set of soaps and a little basket of cleaning supplies stood guard. A cookbook unapologetically sat open on a handsome stand next to the cooktop. In the sitting room, next to one of the reading chairs, a few other books were stacked, and one sat open, with a bookmark in it, as though Erastus had just been reading. A steaming cup of cocoa from Kowalski’s sat next to where Erastus would be seated. The door to the garden, too, was left ajar. A charm was cast to let in fresh but warmed air; you could almost believe it was still early September.

Out in the garden, a few shiny new gardening tools waited patiently near a freshly turned raised planting bed. A new blanket draped effortlessly over a wood bench beneath an arbor; another book sat ready to be read. In the greenhouse, fragrant with orchids, they’d hidden a small bauble with a passcode on it. The first 100 subscribers to find it and send the code to The Evening Star were entered in a drawing for an all-expenses-paid one-week family ski vacation at the world-renowned Courchevel resort, with luxury accommodations at the Hôtel Sorcier Michaud-Chappis. It was a brilliant play to encourage subscribers to poke around and interact with all the sponsored goods. Helena had been quite happy with that innovation—and so had her sponsors.

While Priya wrapped up touring the whole garden under an eidos charm and completed reviewing the labels on a couple of last-minute additions to their product placement contract, Helena strolled with Erastus in the garden, chatting.

“I can’t thank you enough for being our guest on the memcast.”

“I should be thanking you. I’m not used to the attention… but I can’t say I’m not flattered. And, well… it’s not like I’m not getting something from all of this. My life’s work is important to me. And this is the best way for me to get it out to as wide a Wizarding audience as possible—I assume it’ll be translated for your memcast syndicate, as we discussed?”

Erastus bent down to inspect a bed of snow flowers, which had just begun to bud, in anticipation of the season’s first hard snowfall.

“Yes. Japanese, Spanish, French, Mandarin, and Russian.” Helena paused and looked at the Cottage. ”This is a beautiful home, Erastus. I’m surprised you’re not sharing it with someone special. Has there ever been a Mrs Powell?”

“I’m more of the Mr Powell sort, Léna. But the men of my generation weren’t really afforded that luxury.”

“But Wizarding history is filled with stories of queer romance…”

“Wealthy witches and wizards have always played by a different set of rules, Léna. I’m a working man. I had clients I needed to please… and trust was important. I couldn’t afford to be seen as untrustworthy.”

“I hope I haven’t crossed into uncomfortable territory?”

“No, no. Of course not… I can’t imagine you asking an inappropriate question.” Erastus rounded the corner of the Cottage and held the front door open for Helena. “And even if you did, I’m sure I would just play the silly old fool and pretend I hadn’t heard you.”

Erastus winked at Helena.

Priya was already in the sitting room, positioned so she could clearly see Erastus during the interview. Her eidos charm would fill in the details of Helena’s face for the subscribers (not that she needed the charm to recall every detail of her Léna’s face…), but she wanted to catch Erastus’s expressive face and hands.

It was time to begin.