My return was anti-climactic. Maybe Lorance, or more likely Alistaire, had expected me to run, or perhaps they just decided it was in everyone's best interest to pretend it never happened. Whatever the reason, it was decided the hour was too late to continue that evening and I was led back to my cell for a night's sleep. Come the morning, the testing continued as if had never stopped.
"Next we will continue with your mystical testing," said Lorance as he led me through the prison level once more.
I yawned; it was early, probably too early.
We reached the lifts, and Lorance swiped a key card and gave a thumbprint. After a few minutes, the doors pinged open and we stepped inside.
The lift panel had seven buttons, from 'G' at the top to '6' at the bottom. Was the entire base underground? I hadn't seen any windows.
Lorance pressed '3' and we smoothly accelerated.
According to the sign when we stepped out, level 3 was for 'Research and Development'.
A reception area guarded the entrance and behind that was a bustling flow of people: white lab-coated science types, mixing with business suited office workers and even a handful of robed people who wouldn't have looked out-of-place in the Wizarding World. Letting loose a constant stream of cut off apologies, Lorance dived into the stream and I followed in his wake, dodging people with every second step.
He led me to a large room set well off the main thoroughfares. It was long and rectangular, the walls painted a stark white and the floor covered in vinyl squares. A firing range took up half the space, similar to the sort of thing I'd seen on TV, and an oddball collection of machines, occult objects and strange combinations of the two filled the rest.
"This is one of our testing rooms," said Lorance. "We're just waiting for one of my colleagues."
We weren't waiting long.
A man walked in. He had messy brown hair, similar in style to mine, wore a white lab coat and had just a hint of stubble around his chin.
"Mr Potter," said Lorance, proffering with his hand. "This is John Taylor. He's in charge of Resource Management here at Mordred. Mr Taylor, this is Mr Potter, our new recruit."
We said our hellos.
"Mr Taylor does a marvellous job of storing and examining all the exotic artefacts Five and Six collect," said Lorance. "There are some quite fascinating antiquities in his vaults, I can assure you. In fact, I think we just received a package all the way from America just last week. A hard drive was it not? There might be some very interesting information given the reputed source."
"Yes there very well might," said John and smiled ruefully, "but I can't get into that. You know the rules. My team and Archives are working around the clock to break its encryption but still no luck. I'm beginning to think we may need to use one of the supercomputers, AEON probably. That or see if Cunnings will lend us Faye, though she's seldom very good at this kind of thing."
"What's this test going to involve?" I asked. As interesting as the shop talk might be, there were other things we should be doing.
John clapped his hands together and said, "Right, Lorance, where do you think we should begin?"
"Demonstration first?" said Lorance and turned to me. "Mr Potter, if you'd like to show us what you can do. After that we can move onto analysing those abilities and attempt to derive the theoretical underpinnings."
That sounded okay to me. Blowing something up might even make me feel better.
John agreed too and pointed to the firing range. "Please direct any destructive abilities towards the targets on the far wall."
A yellow line was painted on the floor, just in front of a set of blast shields. I walked up to it and looked about. A little over two dozen feet away stood a range of target dummies, store mannequins made from black plastic and dressed in oddly coloured skin-tight clothes.
"Ready when you are," said John. Both he and Lorance had retreated behind an additional set of plastic blast shields, off to one side. That was probably only sensible.
I loosened my wrist and let my wand dance between my fingers. Time to put on a show.
"Confringo!" I said. Circle. Stab. The Blasting Curse streaked loose, passed through a gap in the blast shields, and slammed into the foremost dummy. It exploded, shards of plastic and foul black smoke pouring in all directions.
"Well that was fairly impressive," said John, but I wasn't done yet.
"Accio Pieces," I said and flicked my wand. The massed array of blasted apart plastic flew towards me. Just before it would hit, I ended my spell and cast a Banishing Charm. "Depulso!" The collected pieces hung still for an instant before speeding back the way they'd come, towards the target dummies, and there I halted them again. With a flick of my wand, I cast a non-verbal Levitation Charm and locked them in place, a frozen rain storm.
Only one thing left. "Reparo," I said and slashed my wand from left to right. The dummy was born anew. It didn't matter whether the pieces were broken, blasted, vaporised or melted. It didn't matter that some were probably missing. It didn't matter that I knew next to nothing about how the dummy was made. The pieces flowed back together and melded, the action oddly organic. Within seconds, the dummy was unharmed and whole. It stood among its fellows like it had never been broken.
"Fascinating," said Lorance when I was done. "Can you repair anything or only things you break?"
"Most things," I said and shrugged my shoulders. "As long as they are simple. It doesn't work on fancy magic stuff. I doubt it would work on anything electronic either and probably not anything with too much mechanical complexity. It's mostly a household charm."
"So how many spells are there, Mr Potter?" asked Lorance.
That was a good question; I'd never really thought about the number before. Magical civilisation was thousands of years old so there must be a lot. All I could really do was take a guess.
"I'm not really sure," I said, "tens of thousands, probably more."
"Really?" said Lorance enthusiastically, causing his glasses to fall down his nose. "And how many do you know?"
Um, that was another good question. Over my career at Hogwarts, I must have been tested on hundreds of spells, been taught ten times that number and learnt even more due to my somewhat colourful extracurricular activities. Despite that, how many did I actually remember? There were maybe fifty spells I used on a regular basis, household charms and combat magic. Add to that what still remained in my memory from school or picked up elsewhere... And I had no idea.
I said as much.
"You don't know?" said Lorance.
"School was a long time ago," I said, somewhat defensively. One and a half years was a long time right? It certainly seemed so if you were fighting a war. "And there was always a lot going on." A little voice, which sounded far too much like Hermione, pointed out that I'd never been the best student even when my life was relatively quiet. I told it to shut up and let me have my delusions.
"School?" said John, and so I explained a little about Hogwarts. Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts. Teach us something please. Or not as the case may be.
When I was done, the two men understood a little better.
"I can't say how much I remember from my days at school," said Lorance. "We had this Geography Master. Stridesworth. Something like that. And I used to love his classes. Couldn't tell you what the capital of Paraguay is now days, though."
"Asunción," said John before turning his attention back to me. "Where did you get spells from?"
"From teachers and books mostly," I said. "Or Hermione. She's a friend of mine. To cast a spell you just need the incantation, the wand movements and practice, so it's not hard to pick up new ones. Some have extra bits and a few can be really tricky, but most are simple enough once you've got the hang of casting magic." Then it occurred to me what I had just said. "That's going to be a problem isn't it?"
"How often do you have to look up spells?" said Lorance. He was writing something down. That couldn't be good.
"Not often," I said, and felt a bit better when he wrote that down too. "I'm more the kind of person that gets really good at a few spells and uses them a lot. It got to the point where the Death Eaters would attack anyone using a Disarming Charm, assuming it was me in disguise."
"Death Eaters?" said John.
Ah... I'd really hoped to avoid mentioning things like that. "Terrorists," I said. "I'm part of a group which fights them." There, mostly true, even if it did leave my somewhat pivotal role out of things. They didn't need to know about the split in the Order of the Phoenix following Dumbledore's death, or how I'd ended up the leader of the younger, more proactive faction. They definitely didn't need to know about horcruxes, prophecies or the human costs of the war, even if Voldemort had been keeping his head down the last few months.
"I think we're getting off topic," said John.
"Yes," said Lorance. "Back to the matter of spells."
"What else can you do?" said John. He had his pen and paper out now, ready to take notes.
"Um," I said. Good start Potter. "I can stun people. That is, knock them unconscious. I can disarm people, which, well, disarms them. The spell knocks wands and weapons out people's hands. I can vanish things, making them disappear. I can turn invisible. Make stuff levitate and cast a shield which blocks spells and objects. Apparate; that's teleporting. Lots of things." A lesson from years ago at Hogwarts chose that moment to resurface. "Oh and I can make teacups dance." I smiled at the last but it was only half a joke. I really could make a teacup dance, though I wasn't terribly good. Mine mostly just shuffled about. Ron could make a ten piece tea set do some really quite complicated waltzes. Not bad for a guy who still stubbornly refused to learn how to dance properly on his own two feet.
"Would you please demonstrate," said Lorance, motioning with his hand at the target dummies.
"And could you repair the dummies after you break them," added John. "It would help with my budget."
Thoughts of Ron and the rest of my friends were not welcome at that moment so I shoved them to one side. If Lorance and John wanted a show, a show they'd have. It was time to shine. I disarmed, stunned, transfigured and charmed. I split a dummy down its centre, turned the halves into a hoard of mice and then made my massed rodent army dance the Cancan. The sight of those twenty-odd mice, dancing in a row, was enough to bring a smile to even a miser's face. I even added some basic conjuring, calling forth a small stool, a red feathered bird and a mass of chains, which I rapped around one of the dummies. Anything more complex and I risked messing up so I kept it simple. Conjuring was never a talent of mine.
In total, I went through a fair chunk of my everyday spell library and anything else which came to mind, though I stayed clear of anything truly dark. It was foul magic to a spell and if things turned sour... It might be useful to have a few aces in the hole.
"Wonderful," said Lorance, almost clapping his hands; I could see Flitwick in him at that moment. "I think that's enough demonstration for now. Let's move onto some of the other things we're meant to be studying. Could you please stand in this circle?" He pointed to a golden circle built into the floor, simpler but more permanent than those used in the last set of rituals. I complied and stepped inside.
"Now," said Lorance. "We're going to raise a sensor shield — don't be alarmed. Mr Taylor, when you are ready?"
John Taylor stood at one of the large, complicated machines and began fiddling with the buttons. Around my feet, the circle began to glow, a soft golden light which cast strange shadows across the floor.
"Ready," said John.
Lorance nodded and closed his eyes. He started mumbling under his breath and raised a hand, fingers spread. Then he spoke.
I couldn't hear the words but I felt their effect. They echoed off my bones and the circle shot to life, a glittering curtain of golden energy that reached from ground to ceiling. It warped the room, giving birth to twisted shapes and too-deep shadows, and made me shiver despite myself.
"Now," said Lorance, once more speaking normally, if a bit breathless, "this will let us examine your magic more closely. If you could just cast a spell at the shield, any spell will do."
The golden curtain worried me, there was no two ways about it, and I was none too confident about what it would do to my spells. Towards that end, I chose something relatively harmless — a Cheering Charm — and lobbed it silently at the shield. It hit and thankfully did not rebound. Instead it spread out, merging and diffusing along the curtain. As it did, the sounds of a thousand chirping crickets filled the room.
"Interesting," said Lorance, probably speaking to himself. He'd turned to gaze at a polished silver mirror, set on the wall.
"I agree," said John from his technological workstation. "Could you cast another spell, Mr Potter, preferably something with a different nature?"
Nothing bad had happened yet so there was no excuse to avoid it, as much as I would like otherwise. The curtain was like fingernails against the blackboard of my mind but trying to explain that would be more trouble than it was worth. Again, I pointed my wand at the circle and cast, this time a simple transfiguration spell to turn wood to metal. The golden curtain undulated wildly, crickets sung their song and gradually my spell dissolved.
"Hum," said Lorance. He was right in front of the mirror now. "And another, please, as different as possible from the first two."
I tried a Body-Bind Curse this time, not something I used every day but not something I was going to mess up either. This time my spell hit the curtain and stuck in place. The crickets sounded especially angry, and it took almost a minute for my spell to disappear entirely, fading from a mass of burning silver, to a glowing cinder, to nothing at all.
"Is that enough?" said John.
Lorance hummed once more, fingers idly toying with a pen. "I think so, yes." He waved his hand and the curtain vanished, draining down into the glowing circle. After a few seconds even that stopped. As soon as it was completely gone, I stepped out, glad to be free. There was something freakish about the magic involved.
"So Doctor," I said and shivered slightly, "what was that all about?" It was colder outside the circle and the damn crickets continued to chatter in my ears.
"We were trying to find out how your magic works," said John from in front of the work station.
"And did you work it out?" I asked. I could have given them a brief overview of magical theory but it was unlikely to be very in-depth. Mine was a practical knowledge. For everything else there was Hermione.
"First let me explain how magic works in this world, Mr Potter," said Lorance. "Here everyone has the potential to use magic, at least to some degree. You said that was different in your world?"
"Yes," I said; I'd mentioned it the day before while we were searching for my home. "Only some can learn. It mostly runs in families but it turns up in the muggle — um, non-magical — population every so often. We call them muggleborns."
"How intriguing," said Lorance. "I've read reports of worlds where similar things happen but it's still quite alien. On this Earth, anyone can learn magic, but most don't really believe it exists, I'm afraid, and some need more help than others. There are several notable examples of..."
John coughed into his hand and Lorance had the good grace to look sheepish.
"As I was saying," he continued. "Magical power comes from three sources in this world."
"Four if you include Artefacts," said John. His position vis-a-vis the inclusion of artefacts was clear.
Lorance sniffed. "Very well, four, but I still say artefacts should come under the heading of... Oh, it doesn't matter. Four sources. That naturally inside us, which can be cultivated by study and spiritual growth. That naturally present in the universe, which can be manipulated by spell and ritual. That tapped from far off dimensions, the Darkforce I mentioned, various gods and demons, things of that nature. And, yes, artefacts, sources of magical power in their own right which can be invoked and used."
He let out a sigh.
"Of course, in real life magic rarely falls into nice categories and most practitioners will fall simultaneously into two or even three classifications. The likes of Doctor Strange probably tap all four on a daily basis."
"And where does my magic fall?" I said quickly, before Lorance could start elaborating again.
"You're not from our world so your magic is even harder to classify," said John, "but if I had to speculate, I would say it is most like our extra-dimensional model. The power is not coming from inside of you; it's not coming from this universe, the circle would have detected that; and that just leaves something extra-dimensional." He frowned. "Unless, maybe, it's the artefact model, with your wand as the source? Are they common where you come from?"
"Everyone has a wand," I said. "It's just about impossible to do controlled magic without one, unless you have a rare gift. Even then, it's normally one very focused ability." Metamorphmagi, Parselmouths, Animagi and the like could wait for another day. "Wizards generally have, um, accidental magic when we're younger. That's when we get upset or frightened and make stuff happen, but that stops as we learn to cast magic properly."
"Interesting," said John. "So the magic is definitely tied to the individual. What purpose do wands serve?"
"They let us control our magic," I said and demonstrated by waving my wand, trailing a line of red sparks. "They focus, channel and guide. A wizard's wand... It's not just a stick. It's, well, alive. The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around. Treat it with respect and it will grow with you. Treat it ill and your connection will dwindle." That was simple enough. No need to go into the effect wand woods and cores could have on a wand's nature, let alone the innumerable other factors which affected wand loyalty. "I've had mine since I was eleven years old. Holly wood and phoenix tail feather." My wand seemed to hum in my hand, like a purring cat. Probably just my imagination.
Both men looked at me, slightly worried.
"Phoenix as in a bird or phoenix as in The Phoenix?" said Lorance.
"What's 'The Phoenix'?" I said. I didn't like the way he'd said that at all. "The tail feather is from a bird called Fawkes. He's, I don't know, about three feet long, has flame red feathers and is just about completely immortal. Every so often he goes through a burning day. That's when he's reduced to ash and returns as a small chick. Is that a phoenix or The Phoenix to you?"
Both looked a little relieved at that, if not completely so. "It doesn't matter," said Lorance.
"Would it help if I explained some magical theory?" I said.
Lorance nodded.
"That would be helpful," said John.
And so I explained what I knew of how magic worked, starting with Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, a book I'd not read in years.
"Explain the charm thing again," said John and rubbed his forehead.
"A charm is a spell which adds a magical property to something," I said, "the magical equivalent of a coat of paint. It doesn't alter an object's fundamental nature."
"And how do socks fit into this?"
It was my turn to be exasperated. "I think you're getting a little hung up on the socks," I said. "They're just a metaphor."
"I have to say," said Lorance, "the socks confuse me too."
Damn Dumbledore and his metaphors.
"Look," I said. "When you bewitch an item, that is, add a charm which will stay around, it's like a pair of socks. Once it's there, it's there. It does its job with no more work from you, just like a good pair of socks will keep your feet warm without any further work from the seamstress. However, as you use the charmed item—" Lorance looked ready to butt in and I moved to pre-empt him. "Or wear the socks. The charm — or socks — become worn down. It gets less and less good at its job, just like a sock with holes will get less and less good at keeping your feet warm."
"That's a very strange metaphor," said Lorance.
Well, it made sense to me. Maybe I should be worried about that?
"Just listen," I said. "It's simple. Say you've got a broom. That broom has a Breaking Charm on it, to let you slow down and stop. Each time you use the charm, it gets a little more worn out, less if you use it gently, more if you abuse it. Depending on how good the spellwork is, it could last for years or just hours. Eventually, the charm won't work at all." Best not to go into the weird tics and habits near exhausted charms could develop.
Both John and Lorance completely failed to be overcome by a wave of sudden clarity.
"Another thing I'm not clear on," said John. "How do you decide if a charm stays on an item or leaves when you stop the spell? Bewitching it you said."
"It's to do with how you cast it," I said. "And the spell." Some spells were better at staying around than others, just as some were easier to perform non-verbally or with loose wand movements.
"But how do you choose?" said John. He was really getting hung up on this point.
"You just do," I said.
"Is this to do with using intent to change a spell?" said Lorance.
"No," I said. "Changing spells with intent is something else entirely." Anyone trying to use intent warped spells in enchanting was just asking for trouble. When you warped a spell, you changed it from its base line and could no longer predict its interactions with other magic. If you were unlucky, things just didn't work. Very unlucky and it exploded in your face. I decided it wouldn't be a good idea to go into subordinate incantations, with their focused and standardised spell warped effects. If in six months they wanted to know the difference between 'Protego' and 'Protego Totalum' I would tell them. Now it would just confuse things. That was becoming something of a pattern.
"About spell creation," said Lorance, and I repressed an internal groan. I'd thought we were done with that. "I still don't understand..."
After much arguing and some more of my admittedly weak attempts to explain things, we called a halt to my magical evaluation. Of course, Mordred wasn't done making my brain hurt for the day. Not by a long shot. First there was a gruelling physical exam and then it was time for my psychological evaluation, which seemed to involve asking every possible question about my life. I mean, how could I possibly have been a member of the Nazi party? I was born in nineteen eighty!
"Mr Potter," said Doctor Patterson from his seat. "Could you please pay attention?"
I sighed and looked up; he took that as a yes.
"Now," he said, "you've told me some of your life at... What was it? Ah, yes, Hogwarts. And of this Voldemort person. And of joining the 'Order of the Phoenix'." He, I noticed, didn't seem overly worried by the word 'phoenix'. "Now, according to my timeline, you left school at the end of your sixth year but 'Hogwarts' has a seven year curriculum. Why did you feel fighting 'Voldemort' was more important than your education?"
Because of prophecies, destiny and horcrux-scars but Patterson didn't need to know about any of that. He already knew far more than I'd like, but I'd already let the Death Eater out the bag as it were. "Because someone had to," I said.
"But why you?"
"Because someone had to," I said again. My knuckles were white under the table. "He was killing people. People I knew, my friends. He was a threat to everything and everyone."
"And so you packed up, took your friends and set off to fight a war?"
"Yes," I said and sat up straighter.
"You're not telling me something," said Doctor Patterson. It wasn't a question.
"I'm telling you everything you need to know," I said. It probably wasn't the best statement but Doctor Patterson seemed to know when I told an out-and-out lie. My few aborted attempts at doing so had proved half-truths and misdirection the far better course. Even my answer about why I had to fight Voldemort was true in a sense. Dumbledore would likely consider it even more important than the 'real' reason.
"Do you like playing the hero, Mr Potter?" said Doctor Patterson, gazing out over his fingers. "What do you want? Fame? Power? Recognition?"
"No!" That was just about the opposite of reality; I had more fame than I ever wanted, which was none. "I just like helping people, okay?"
"Very well," he said and shuffled his sheaf of notes. "That will do for today, but I will be recommending regular counselling sessions in the coming months."
"Counselling?" I said. Did Patterson think I was crazy?
"Yes, Mr Potter, counselling. You are far from home and under a lot of stress. Regular counselling can help you deal with that."
And pull more background from me no doubt.
"Fine," I said, slightly sullen. Agreement seemed to be the only option right then, but I would try my hardest to get out of it later.
"Very well, Mr Potter. You may go. Someone will call for you shortly. In the meantime I would advise you to relax. It's nearing dinner; I will have something sent to your room."
I sighed for what must have been the thousandth time and shook my head. The battle was over for now. "Thank you, Doctor Patterson."
"You're most welcome."
With that, I turned and left. Doctor Patterson's office was on level 1 — 'Planning and Operations' from the sign. That meant the ground was only a little way above my head. I turned and looked up. The roof looked the same as all the others, a smooth mass of white plaster.
There was a polite cough from one side, and I moved to face it.
"Mr Potter," said an eager looking twenty something, bobbing his head. "I've been asked to escort you back to your room." Said 'room' had formerly been my cell but I wasn't going to complain. They'd let me keep my wand, so there was nothing keeping me here other than my own willingness to stay, not walls, locks or armed guards.
"Lead on," I said.
Dinner was better than before, the meat cooked rather than merely institutionalised and the vegetables were more than boiled lumps of organic matter. The carrots even came with a glaze! Talk about the lap of luxury.
"So you sold out," said a voice. Fogg.
I didn't look up from my food. "Not a psychopath like you, Fogg. They can get me home."
"That what Stuart promised you?" said Fogg. "Be his dog and he'll send you home."
"He promised to help me find a way."
Fogg laughed, a too high chuckle that set my teeth on edge. "And why would he do that? He's a fucking spook, man. He'd kill his own mother if some fucker told him to. He's got you where he wants you and he'll never let go."
"I think you're wrong," I said and plopped another carrot in my mouth. "He's driven, yes, but thinks he's doing the right thing."
"And why does that matter?" said Fogg. "The superheroes are the worst. They'll tell you it's necessary as they put the gun to your head. Hypocrites all of them. They say they're fighting for truth and justice and all that crap but I've seen who they really are. Good men, don't make me laugh. Everyone's in it for themselves."
"Altruism exists," I said and closed my eyes. All the people who'd died to protect me danced behind my eyelids. My mother, to fuel ancient sacrifice magic; my godfather, Sirius, through the Veil; Dumbledore, so I might live and for his unwavering belief in the inherent goodness of man. Even Snape, defying Voldemort to the end. I ate another carrot.
Fogg retreated to a sullen silence.
Just as I was finishing up, there was a knock on my door. Since said door didn't open from the inside, it was mostly a symbolic gesture.
"Come in," I said.
It was the eager looking twenty something again, still in his business suit, still with the wet-behind-the-ears just scrubbed look of the newly employed.
"Mr Stuart will see you now," he said and proffered towards the corridor.
I stood and stretched. "Lead on."
As we left, two armed guards fell into place around us. They stayed until we were out of the prison level.
As it turned out, Alistaire Stuart's office was on the first floor, Planning and Operations, not far from Doctor Patterson's. We walked along brimming corridors, ducking and weaving through the constant stream of smartly dressed men and women. If the eager looking twenty something didn't apologise quite as much as Lorance, he tried. It was probably for the best. It gave the hulking men carrying bright red boxes covered in warning signs, time to get out our way.
Before long, we reached a set of double doors, labelled 'Alistaire Stuart – Special Advisor', and went inside.
The outer office was a reception area. There were a number of low seats, a few tables and a secretary. She sat behind a desk packed with stacked paper and worked industriously on a modern looking computer. 'Modern' wasn't saying much from my point of view. The last computers I'd spent any time with were my primary school's old BBCs.
"Mr Potter to see Mr Stuart," said the eager looking twenty something, voice squeaking. I could hardly blame him. The secretary's nameplate said Alice Blackmore. She had blond hair, blue eyes, clear skin, and a perfect build. If I'd not known better, I'd have said she had veela blood too.
"He's expecting you, Mr Potter," said Alice, without looking up from her computer. "Knock, wait for a response and enter."
"Thank you," I said and sent her a smile, which of course she didn't see.
A large oak door stood slightly recessed to the left of her desk and it repeated the sign from outside, 'Alistaire Stuart – Special Advisor'. I did as instructed and knocked.
"Enter," said a voice only a few seconds later. I did that too. The eager looking twenty something stayed outside.
Alistaire's office was, well, exactly what the office of a spy should be, the gentleman intellectual adventurer. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, filled with smartly bound tomes, oil colours hung in the free spaces and a green leather desk stood at the far end. Behind the desk was a large window, showing the view over London. No, wait. I looked again. Not a window, some kind of giant TV. The picture moved all the same. Between the desk and the TV-window sat Alistaire Stuart, on a high-backed swivel chair. His eyes were chips of ice and he was as intimidating as I'd ever seen him.
"Mr Potter," said Alistaire and nodded his head. His face gave nothing away.
"Err," I said before kicking my brain into gear. "Good afternoon, Mr Stuart." Even with my brain working it still took an effort not to fidget. Instead I stood rock still, a little in front of his desk.
"I have the results of your tests here," he said and held up a loosely bound pile of papers. "And have examined them."
Silence hung for a moment and I tried my best not to break it.
"I have to say I'm impressed," continued Alistaire. "You did well in the physical, not spectacular, but nothing a few months of regular exercise won't sort out. Doctor Patterson seems to think you're surprisingly well-adjusted considering recent events, though he adds that you could do with regular counselling sessions. But he thinks that of just about everybody. Lastly I have Doctor Hartwell's and Mr Taylor's report on your superhuman abilities."
That last comment won a wince. 'Superhuman'? That just didn't sound right. Wizard, yes, maybe some local twist on that, but superhuman? That was only one step away from superhero. Alistaire continued and cut off any further thoughts on my part.
"According to this report," he said, "you have a wide and varied range of abilities, seldom seen outside of high-end reality warpers or powerful magic users. However it also notes that, while varied, your abilities are less potent than we'd expect from someone of that level. Indeed, they are behind many normal superhumans with more focused abilities. In short, they think you would make a very useful field agent and I'm inclined to agree."
He put the papers down and returned his eyes to mine.
"Mr Potter, Mordred is a part of the intelligence community. We are Five's and Six's primary superhuman resource. This country has more than enough superheroes and MI-13 agents to battle large threats. Your abilities, while less suited to that kind of work, are perfect for a field operative. In short, what you lack in depth you make up for in breath, and I need a man who can open a lock or disable a guard far more often than I need someone to blow a hole in a mountain." The last comment brought a very out-of-place smile to his face, but it soon disappeared.
He pulled a small pile of folders from a desk draw and passed me the topmost. "Read this."
I scanned the pages. The chief subject of the report seemed to be a supervillain named 'Spiral', real name Rita Wayword. The attached picture showed an only mostly human looking woman with six arms, long white hair and two very sharp swords. I read on and the words almost jumped out the page: dimensional travel. It was part of a section on known talents and abilities. With ravenous eyes I devoured every page, even the tiny footnotes. Spiral was a known associate of someone called 'Mojo' and commonly used by him for transport. She could open portals, mostly just through space but also through time and even dimensions.
"As I said, Mr Potter," continued Alistaire in a low and steady voice, "I can help you get home. Five and Six have extensive files on this world's superhumans and only slightly less extensive files on the superhumans of many others. Now, Ms Wayword is unlikely to willingly cooperate, but there are others who may fit the criteria better."
My eyes stayed locked on the report clutched in my hands; the picture almost called to me, the arms caught mid hypnotic dance. "You'll help me find a way home?" I said, lips dry. That promise seemed very real in that moment, no matter what Fogg might say.
"If you'll work for me, yes. Do you accept?"
Something stuck in the bottom of my throat but I nodded all the same.
"Splendid," he said, and I could hear the satisfaction. "I'm appointing you to probationary field agent status. Assuming things continue as they are, you'll be promoted to full agent in short order. Welcome to MI6 Division Mordred, Mr Potter."
I looked up from the report at last, and he held out a hand. We shook.
"Now," said Alistaire after we broke apart, "there is the matter of paperwork." He passed me another folder, along with a pen. "This is the standard form. Official Secrets Act, permission to monitor and psi-scan, employment rules."
I flipped it open and read through. It was written in plain English and quite short, which I suppose made sense. Going by what Alistaire had said the day before, Mordred wasn't supposed to be running 'superhuman' operatives or possibly even exist. It wasn't like they could take me to court over it. No, if things went really, really wrong it would be a race between a bullet to the back of my head and disapparition.
I signed on the dotted line.
"Congratulations, Agent Potter," said Alistaire and handed me the last folder. On the front was written, 'CLASSIFIED: AUTHORIZED EYES ONLY'. "Inside you will find your ID card, employment papers, a copy the regulations and other official documents. Please do not lose them. During your probationary period, you are banned from entering any Black areas, may only enter Red areas under guard and with written permission from myself, and must be supervised at all times while in Yellow areas. You are free to enter Green or White areas as you see fit. A colour-coded map of the base can be found inside the folder.
"While a member of Mordred you may either live on-site or in approved accommodation nearby. In the interim, you have been assigned a room on level five, On Site Accommodation. You will also find a debit card attached to a bank account under an alias with your first month's pay in it. Details of the cover identity for dealing with the bank are in the folder. Please use this to purchase a proper suit before the start of business next week. There is a copy of the dress code in the folder as well.
"Finally I have scheduled you for an intensive field agent course. This will take place in one month's time. In the meantime, you will join the other field agents for regular exercises. If you wish to meet them, most should be in the On Call room. It is labelled on your map. That is all."
It was a lot to take in but I did my best. "Thank you, sir," I said. Home. "I won't let you down."
"I'm sure you won't, Agent Potter. You are dismissed."
Was I meant to salute or something? Since I had no idea, I just nodded, turned and left.
Once back in the outer office, I fished around in the folder and found the map. It seemed simple enough and I'd been right; Mordred had seven levels.
Ground - Loading docks and street level
Level 1 - Planning and Operations
Level 2 - Archives
Level 3 - Research and Development
Level 4 - The Vault
Level 5 - On Site Accommodation
Level 6 - Prisoner Containment
Planning and Operations, where I was now, was mostly a green colour, with orange and red rooms and a few white corridors. Archives was the same. Research and Development was an almost solid yellow, with a few pieces of red and a single black square near the centre. The Vault was solid black, which was not surprising given its name. On Site Accommodation was green and white, though I doubt I was allowed to break into other people's rooms. Finally Prisoner Containment was an almost solid red, with some large black sections.
Since Alistaire had more or less told me to visit the other field agents in the On Call room, that's what I did. It was on the same floor as Alistaire's office but on the other side, meaning I didn't have far to go.
There were four people in the room when I knocked and entered. A tall man with a vulpine face languished on a sofa. Opposite him in an armchair was a faintly Indian woman with a perpetual scowl. A taller woman with long black hair stood by a snooker table, and a genderless figure dressed all in black leant against the far wall. A golden mask covered his face.
"Yeah?" said the shorter of the two women. "What do you want?"
Perhaps not the most auspicious start to a working relationship but what would I know? I was lousy at Divination and had the OWL to prove it.
"Hi," I said and put on my best smile. "I'm Harry Potter. I've just been made a provisional field agent. Mr Stuart suggested I come here."
The shorter woman snorted and looked back at the magazine in her lap. The taller scowled but not at anyone in particular, just the universe in general. "Fine," she said. "Sit up Kailen. You too Reeves."
The man lying on the couch opened one eye. "We have a visitor?" he said. "To what do we own this great pleasure?"
The shorter woman muttered something, possibly involving fucking fairies, which couldn't be fun. Fairies were tiny things and known to bite.
"I'm Blackhole," said the taller woman. "That's Malon Reeves." She jerked a finger towards the shorter woman. "That's Kailen on the sofa. And our masked friend here goes by Trinidad these days."
"Charmed," said Trinidad, bobbing his golden masked head. He sounded male.
"So who are you?" said 'Blackhole', which seemed a very strange name to me. "I heard we were getting someone new but that's all."
"Harry Potter," I said and tried for a self-deprecating smile. "They tell me I'm from another dimension."
"Another dimension, my dear Harry Potter?" said Kailen, opening both eyes. "From which far sprung realm do you join us? Although it pains me to be the one to tell you, this plane can be frightfully dull at times."
"No idea," I said, ignoring the second part of his comment because it made no sense. "That's one of the questions I'm getting help with."
"Kailen's from Otherworld," said Malon. "Freaking fantasy place."
"Otherworld?" I said, then some things slotted into place. "You're from another dimension?" Understandably this roused my interest.
Kailen rose, all languid grace, and looked at me. His teeth were too long and little too sharp, and his ears met in angled points.
"I do have that august honour, yes," he said. "But I now call this fair plane home despite all its many, varied and I might add numerous faults. There was a..." He paused and tapped one long finger against his sculpted jaw. "Misunderstanding."
"He fucked one of Oberon's daughters and had to make a fast exit," said Malon, a wicked smile on her face. The magazine lay forgotten on her lap.
"That I did," said Kailen, nodding his head, seemingly not at all ashamed of the revelation. "But how could I say no to such a perfect flower? Sadly, her father did not see it that way and I had to leave in a hurry to avoid a rather unsightly, not to mention rather painful death. Luckily some of the Walker Paths yet remained open."
"Wait," I said. "There are paths to this Otherworld place? And it's another dimension? Could I go home?"
"Once perhaps," said Kailen and shrugged. "But no longer, I fear. Oberon has sealed the gates. There is evil loose in Otherworld and he intends to hunt his prey."
"Oberon?" All I could think of was A Midsummer Night's Dream.
"King of the fairies," said Kailen and waved a hand. "Many of the fae and forgotten call Otherworld home. Fairies, elves, the Tuatha Da Danaan, ogres, giants, goblins and ghouls. It is a nexus of sorts, through which many worlds can be reached, and its master changes as do the seasons. Today, Oberon is ascendant. Tomorrow, who can say?"
"Yeah," said Malon, the wicked smile growing into an evil smirk, "and Kailen's managed to piss them all off."
"He is remarkably adept," said Blackhole, a faint smile on her otherwise impassive face.
"You're so kind," he said and swept a bow.
Fairies, elves, giants, goblins? Those things existed in the Wizarding World but I had a hard time imagining how any kind of fairy could be in charge. They were tiny things — miniature humans with insect wings, the barest spark of magic and animal minds.
"What do you mean by fairies?" I said and explained what they were as far as I was concerned.
When I was done, Malon snorted. "Kailen's a fairy," she said. "I only wish he couldn't talk."
Blackhole frowned at Malon, but Kailen didn't seem overly concerned and just nodded. "It is truly an honour to hear the praise one such as you heaps upon one such as I," he said before turning back to me. "We are a people of many forms. While in this world, I prefer this one. At different times I have taken others." Once more he smiled and his teeth were still far too sharp.
"So Kailen's a fairy," I said to Malon. "What does that make you?"
"Private," said Malon and her frown settled into something harder.
"The same I'm afraid," said Trinidad and moved his weight from one foot to the other. Wiry muscles shifted beneath his uniform. It made me conscious of the shabby state of my own clothes.
"I'm the one you take orders from," said Blackhole and looked me in the eye. Hers were onyx chips, hard and sharp.
With that thrilling and thorough disclosure, I took my leave. I had a room to explore.
Since Mordred's lifts were needlessly complicated, I took the stairs. They too were guarded by key card locked doors but some kindly soul had wedged them open, using a half brick. Merlin bless the British can-do spirit.
Alistaire's map labelled my room with a small star, on the On Site Accommodation level, so that's where I headed. The journey also gave me the opportunity to let my eyes wander.
Archives was one floor below Planning and Operations, and I stuck my head through the door. The stairwell opened into a short foyer and then, beyond a swung wide set of doors, into a larger room. Half looked to be an old fashioned library but the other more closely resembled a hi-tech spy lair, computers, TVs and a cartoon fairy waving her arms. The last took up most of one of the wall monitors. I decided not to comment.
Next came Research and Development, which I'd already seen, and below that the Vault. A huge metal airlock guarded the entrance, glowing panels and flickering energy fields. No half bricks there.
On Site Accommodation could have been any apartment building. It looked to be nothing more than a network of corridors lined with doors, each with a small number plate. My new 'home' was C14.
The door clicked open when I swiped my key card and I stepped inside. There was a bed, wardrobe, desk and a small bathroom. I looked inside that too. Toilet, sink and shower, the first two white ceramic, the last plastic and stainless steel. The carpet was short and hard, and the bedding looked coarse. It wasn't Shell Cottage. The night seemed very cold.
Morning came, and it was a Saturday. This was the spy life, though, and I was sure that meant I had plenty to do.
After taking a shower, I looked over my clothes. They were prison issue, coarse and grey. Not the kind of thing I wanted to wear.
"Right," I said and readied my wand. "We'll see about this."
On my eighteenth birthday I'd had a party. It had been a large one, with most of my friends gathered, which was no mean thing considering we were fighting a war. Death and combat had been forgotten for one night of food, drink and merriment. The memory made my smile. Drunken Neville could be surprisingly eloquent.
Hermione had given me 'Dropping the Portcullis – A Guide to Protective Spell Casting' by Theodore Warder, a fascinating textbook and one of the few I sat down to read from cover to cover. Ron went with a collection of chocolate figurines, made in our images. And I have to say, I looked quite dashing in chocolate, even if I do say so myself. Ginny had gone with a book too, if one quite different from Hermione's: 'Grandmother Megan's Patented Clothing Charms'. That's what I turned to now. For a book I'd initially looked on with scepticism, it was more than pulling its weight.
"Scourgify kleed!" I said and swished my wand up and down the trousers, shirt and underwear. The cloth twitched, then settled in place, perfectly clean. According to Grandmother Megan, normal cleaning charms could damage clothes and she helpfully provided her own alternatives. My clothes did seem a bit softer after I started adding the subordinate incantation to the Scouring Charm.
Next came a transfiguration spell to turn the material into something softer, a Colour Changing Charm to turn the garments black and I finished by drawing my wand around the neck of the shirt. Slowly, inch by inch, an old-fashioned collar grew up, thick and starched. Grandmother Megan was a firm believer in shirts and being able to dress smartly at a moment's notice.
Satisfied with my appearance, and that Grandmother Megan wouldn't be too ashamed, I dressed and turned to leave. There was a note under my door.
'Mr Potter,' it read. 'Please come to my office, Floor Three, Room 3B. I have some more tests I would like to run. Doctor Lorance Hartwell.'
Well, that answered my question about what I was meant to do.
The door clicked on my way out, my own personal 'have a good day dear'.
Lorance's office was on Research and Development, near the testing laboratory I'd visited the day before. It meant I needed an escort but that wasn't a problem; I just asked at the reception desk guarding the entrance to the floor proper and they sent me off with a harried looking intern. Said intern walked me to my destination, then hurried off. That wasn't how it was meant to work, I was pretty sure, but I wasn't going to complain. I just knocked on the door and said, "Doctor Hartwell, it's Harry Potter. You sent for me."
There was a rustling of paper from inside and then a voice. "Ah, Mr Potter. Please come in."
I did so. The room was small and cramped, the little space available taken up by an extensive set of book shelves and a large desk. They were all covered with loose paper.
"Yes, um, where was I," said Lorance as he stood up. "Ah, here." He found his suit jacket and pulled it on. "This way please."
It was still early in the morning and Mordred was only just getting up to speed. Lorance made do with only a handful of apologies on the journey.
"This is one of our smaller testing rooms," he said as we entered a circular room, just down the corridor from his office. A sweeping spiral of silver circuitry was built into the floor. It started from just to the left of the door, circled the room five times and then merged with a hip high pillar at the room's centre. "Mys-Tech was doing, um, something here. We were never quite sure what."
"Mys-Tech?"
"A large multi-national company," explained Lorance, "active five, maybe ten, years ago." He frowned, skin wrinkling. "I was never entirely sure about the full story but they disappeared and the intelligence community took over a number of their black facilities. I can only guess they were involved in a number of things they shouldn't have been. But enough of all that." He pointed to a worktable curving around one wall. Three blank boxes stood on it. "We don't need any of this equipment. Not that it's not interesting. Why, Ms Beckley, she performed some quite fascinating experiments which proved..." He stopped and shook himself. "That's not important. I just wanted a null place and this serves that purpose. Please look at the boxes. No magic please. Tell me which one is different from the rest."
With that kind of completely satisfying explanation, how could I refuse?
The boxes were identical from what I could see, smooth steel blocks about thirty centimetres long by ten wide and high. I picked them up in turn, feeling their weight and heft. All were clearly hollow and, just as clearly, all contained something inside. When I picked up last, it tingled in my hand, a static electric sensation.
"This one feels odd," I said. Odd wasn't quite right but it was the closest I could come.
"It's as I thought," he said, nodding. "You're mystically sensitive."
"Mystically what?" I said.
"Sensitive. It means you can sense when magic is performed."
That... That really didn't make sense. Magic was magic. You could see or feel the spell-light, if it was that kind of spell; hear the incantation, if it was said out loud; and experience the effects, if there were any, but feel magic itself? Magic wasn't like that. Magic was the source of those things; it didn't exist separate from them.
I said as much to Lorance and he nodded. "I saw your reaction to the circle yesterday but you didn't mention anything of the kind. In this universe, the ability to sense magic is common to most of the mystically adept. If I was to venture an explanation, your ability to wield the magic of your universe, must make you sensitive to the magic of this."
That seemed reasonable, and I really hoped it was true. The only other explanation involved prophecies, Killing Curses, and Horcrux-scars — things I wanted nothing to do with.
There was a knock on the door and John Taylor stuck his head in. His brown hair was messier than normal and the stubble was rougher too.
"Lorance," said John, "we need you up in Archives. We're taking AEON out the network and need you to take down the sorcerous wards."
"Is this about the..." Lorance glanced at me. "The you know what?"
"Yes. We've given up conventional methods."
"What's aeon?" I asked.
The two men shared a look. After a few seconds John said, "AEON is one of our three supercomputers, the Kree model. It's warded by magical protections to stop intrusion, and I need Lorance here to take them down before we can move it."
"It's all very hush-hush," said Lorance, lowering his voice slightly. "Vault business, which means Black. Well above your security clearance."
I nodded. It was to be expected if not desired.
"I'll tell you what," said Lorance, light blossoming on his normally slightly bemused face. "Why don't you come up to Archives with me? I'll introduce you to Robin Cunnings. He's one of the heads of Archives."
So up we went. We took the lift, and after the normal rigmarole with key cards, thumbprints and no external sign of the lift's current location, we walked out into Archives. It was much as my brief glance had indicated. The left-hand side looked like a piece of Hogwarts' library, transported across dimensions, while the right appeared the pinnacle of modern. Despite that nineteen eighties technology appeared that way to me, I had a feeling that the right-hand side would look modern to anyone.
"Lorance, John," said a man, waving his hand. "AEON's over here." He was tall, with a boxish face and short brown hair. Normal looking to tell the truth. We walked over.
"Mr Cunnings," said Lorance, "this is Harry Potter. Mr Potter, this is Robin Cunnings, joint Head of Archives."
"Call me Robin," said Robin and stuck out his hand. "Just no boy wonder jokes. I might work with superheroes but that doesn't make me one."
I took it and shook. "You can call me Harry," I said, then added, "Boy wonder?" It rang a bell but I couldn't place it.
"Old comic character," he said. "Robin the Boy Wonder, sidekick to Batman. Having my name in this line of work can be a chore." He sighed dramatically.
"I'm sure," I said and chuckled, even though I didn't get the joke. Though... Come to think of it, I did seem to remember a Robin. Red costume, yellow cloak?
Introductions done, Robin clapped his hands together. "Lorance, are you ready to get to work?"
Lorance pushed his glasses up his nose and nodded. "Whenever you are."
"Good. I'll just make sure Faye doesn't get in your way. Faye!"
One of the room's large TVs burst to life, the picture changing from a sedately spinning black spear to a cartoon fairy. It, or rather she, had a head of long blond hair, a flowing dress made of leaves and a large pair of butterfly wings. In other words, she looked like a slightly anthropomorphized fairy from my world.
The cartoon image waved her hands and said, "Yes?" Her voice was slightly sing-song and came from a nearby set of speakers.
"Faye, dear," said Robin. "You're not in AEON are you?"
"Nu'hu," she said, shaking her head. Because of her cartoon proportions, this involved swinging everything else too, hair, dress, body and wings.
"Good, well get in your PDA to be sure. I don't want you getting hurt." He paused. "Oh, and while you're here. I've got someone new for you to meet."
Her face lit up as if enchanted with a Lumos Charm and her eyes flicked about the room, as if she really was looking out from the monitor. They were violet and danced with energy.
"Someone new!" she said. "Great! Who! Who! Who!" Her eyes found me. "You're new!" It was more accusation than statement, never mind question. "I'm Faye; what's your name!"
Robin waved me forward.
"Err," I said, "hello." Recent practice notwithstanding, talking to fairies was outside of my experience, cartoon ones most of all. "I'm Harry Potter, a new agent here."
The little fairy's eyes widened to an almost comical extent. It would've been impossible for a human but she was a cartoon image and not constrained by the petty limits of biology.
"You're a field agent! I want to be a field agent when I grow up but Daddy won't let me."
"Your daddy?" I asked. How could a computer image possibly have a father?
"Robin of course!" she said.
Right. That made as much sense as anything in this messed up world. "Sorry if this comes as, ah, insensitive," I said, "but what... are you?"
Faye puffed up her chest, threw out her wings and imitated Hermione by setting her hands on her hips. "I'm a fairy of course!" she said.
"Like Kailen?" I said. Kailen claimed to be a fairy from Otherworld, some sort of alternate dimension. Was Faye from the same place? Going by her face, she was not. She scowled and I hastily moved on. "Do fairies typically live in computers?"
"No silly," said Faye, her, well, fey mood forgotten. She giggled. "Daddy says I'm special!"
"Maybe I can explain," said Robin, a note of humour in his voice. "Faye here is the result of an accident."
Faye's eyes widened and glittered with unshed tears.
"A very happy accident," said Robin, holding up both hands. "When I started digitizing our archived books — that is, scanning all the texts you see on the shelves for easy use and reference — a large amount of mystical power began to build up in the system. Many of these books contain significant power and being digitized did nothing to change that. Overtime the amount of energy in the servers grew. It combined with the sorcerous protections and reached something of a critical mass. This coincided with one of my experiments. I was attempting to use a low-level finding spell to make a pattern matching algorithm more efficient. The experiment didn't work as I intended but it did give rise to Faye."
That made some sense, and I nodded my head. Complex magic coming alive — and getting Ideas — was something of a problem in the Wizarding World. The Ford Anglia from my second year at Hogwarts was perhaps the most memorable — and terrifying — example but it was far from the only one. Whether it was invisible invisibility text books, Care of Magical Creatures tomes which bit or even Hogwarts herself, many enchanted objects had some degree of intelligence.
"You're not shocked?" asked Robin raising an eyebrow. Lorance looked at me as well.
"No," I said and shrugged. "Seems normal to me. I was in a car once which decided it would rather live free in the forest. Though to be fair, we had just crashed it."
"Fascinating," said Robert, and Lorance made a quick note in a pocket-book.
"As interesting as this is," said John and began walking towards a bank of technological whatsits. "We really must move AEON down to the Vault."
"Of course, of course," said Robin. "Faye, into your PDA."
"But I don't wanna!" she said and stomped one cartoon foot. "It's boring!"
"I'm sure Harry here will keep you entertained."
"Really!"
Robin looked to me, and I shrugged. "Sure," I said.
The little fairy smiled like the sun, scrunched up her eyes and disappeared from the large TV. There was a ping and she reappeared on the screen of a small, handheld device, sitting in some sort of plastic cradle.
"Harry," said John. He was standing in front of a blinking box, covered in lines of red, green and blue diodes. A half glass sphere rose out the top, in which spun transient traceries of light, dancing a complicated dance. Ron's teacups would've been impressed. Was this AEON? If so, it looked... supercomputery?
"If you give me a few hours to move AEON to the Vault and get things set up," continued John, "I've got equipment for you. Meet me in my office, 15N, Research and Development?"
"Okay," I said and looked around. What was I going to do in the meantime? Maybe have a look through the library? I might even strike gold and find a spell book from my universe. I'd fallen between the cracks in space-time; it wasn't beyond belief others things would've too. Of course, with my luck it would be an extra vicious copy of The Monster Book of Monsters.
"Why don't you take Faye for a walk," said Robin, answering my question for me. "The hot breakfast is just starting in the cafeteria and Faye likes to get out and about."
"Really!" said Faye, jumping up and down. "Really! Really! Really! Really!"
"Um, okay," I said and almost took a step back. An excited Faye was an intimidating prospect, despite being all of an inch tall. Not that I really minded. I wasn't Hermione. A brand new library to explore didn't make me grab my significant other and run to the nearest bedroom.
"Good, good," said Robin and picked the device Faye had moved to. "This is Faye's PDA. She can live in here for a while and it lets me carry her about."
"When I have too," said Faye and frowned, but she didn't look truly unhappy. In fact, there was a curve to the edge of her cartoon lips that hinted at a hidden smile. It made me wonder if her other outbursts had been similarly faked, no doubt as part of a Machiavellian manipulation plot, the kind all small children were masters of.
"Yes, well," said Robert. "She can see from the cameras here and here, one front and one back. Microphone's here, so she can hear you, and the PDA's equipped with Wi-Fi. This switch on the side turns it on and off; keep it on. That way she can ask the network if she needs something. She has all the passwords, even the ones I'd rather she didn't."
"That's right!" said Faye, lips curving in an almost feline way. She was very much the cat who ate the cream.
He held out the PDA and I took it. Faye waved, her face the sun goddess of an all-feline pantheon.
"Breakfast it is," I said.
"Onwards!" she said and stuck out an imperious hand.
As I headed back towards the lifts, Lorance rolled up his sleeves and began chanting under his breath. The words danced against my skin like an icy breeze and I shivered. Sensing magic was going to take some getting used to.