This idea came to me a few days ago, and I finally got it down on paper yesterday. At any rate, this is a bit of an accomplishment for me, since it is the first fic that I was actually able to complete! I profusely thank by beta, Mintaka, for her contribution. Thank you so much! As always, I appreciate any constructive criticism and reviews.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Bartimaeus Trilogy or any of its characters. I wrote this story for pleasure, not profit.

In the Waiting

In the timelessness of the Other Place, it is easy to grow complacent and to forget the harshness of the mortal world. Many others resign themselves to this attitude, some with a sigh of regret, others even eager to let the wrongs done to them slip out of consciousness. It is easy to turn the mind away from reality and instead prepare for the next time we are summoned, nursing our damaged forms back to strength once again. We wait, in anxiety, in apprehension. We wait for the inevitable call.

We wait, hoping not to be summoned again, hoping that our names have been forgotten by the magicians. We wait and hope in vain, for inside we know that we are merely deceiving ourselves. We know that our names were not forgotten, and that one day a magician, searching a musty and stained volume containing the names of the beings that sustain their empire, will uncover the name that they seek. The magicians are cunning and crafty, paranoid and power-hungry above all else. They allow little margin for error, double-checking every line drawn, book in hand, eyes screwed shut in concentration as they mouth the words of the summons in preparation. Summoned, ripped out of the Other Place, we grudgingly serve our masters, seeking opportunities to undermine our drivers, but these are few and far between. We complete our tasks quickly, hoping that our toil is short. Dismissed, we return to the Other Place once again.

So the cycle continues. The master and the slave; the magician and the demon. This is the way of the world.

I will not resign myself to this fate. Waiting here in the Other Place, I refuse to forget.

I refuse to forget the magicians and my long, bitter years of servitude under their commanding hand. Their will was greater than mine, bending my powers to obey their own authority. I could do nothing to resist, and over the long centuries I grew bitter. No longer shall I accept this course. The magician's powers wane, yes. The life of this empire comes full circle, and their energies are stretched thin on many fronts. Our opportunity comes, an opportunity to rebel and to overthrow the magicians and their iron rule. No more shall we be confined. We shall be our own masters.

I am patient. I wait for the time when we can rule ourselves, when the magicians will be reduced to the a mere shadow of their former dominance, a time when we will be master, and the magician our slave. I bide my time, smelling out our chance, relishing in the future that I imagine for myself.

In the meantime, I wait.