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Chapter 4: Justin Russo
Justin Russo leans back in his leather desk chair with his fingers entwined, hands clasped behind his head. Sighing contently he stretches his legs, extending them out in front of him as he gazes at the far wall. Despite being a late Friday night he is dressed in an expensive, tailored suit. Polished dress shoes, matching socks and pants, tie, and a flawless pressed shirt complete his ensemble and it only adds to his current agitation. He works at The Bureau of Para-Magical Investigations. While a formidable, worldwide institution, the headquarters is located in New York. It is a huge complex that towers sixty stories high and another dozen underground. Inside its' walls are thousands of offices and databases. Buried below the earth are special security labs whose purpose is to develop, test and refine new spells. Many of the battle spells allowed in the Wizard Competition's were originally created inside them. Tracking centers monitor monsters and the occasional demon. Sensitive spell detectors analyze magic usage, particularly that relating to the dark arts and forbidden rituals. Should a problem or violation occur, briefing and equipment rooms allow teams of specially trained individuals to resolve them. The brain of this carefully orchestrated merging of technology, humans, and magic is the Operations Center or Ops.
Despite being staffed twenty-four hours, the large office building is quiet and serene at this hour. Given the rarity of monster and demon sightings most of the employees have gone home. While he does enjoy the tranquility; unfortunately, sometimes it serves as a constant, a nagging reminder that his work too often comes before relationships. Accustom to such thoughts he has long adjusted with the occasional difficulties his mind encounters when it is allowed to wander.
Justin, when he permits himself this privilege loves the time. He has even coined it his 'Mind Time'. He still isn't sure where the name originates. Some reclusive part of his brain always offered insanity as a viable option. A smile forms on his face, growing wider. He could only imagine the endless waves of torment if even the slightest hint of such a title reaches his younger siblings. The smirk ends much sooner than Justin would have liked. His gaze quickly falling to the silver framed picture on the corner of his desk.
A photograph of the three Russo siblings; Alex is in the middle, an arm wrapped around each of her brothers, Justin on the left, Max on the right. All three of them are smiling. Justin looks upon that representation fondly although he isn't pleased when it is taken. Jerry, his father, had quite the time getting the trio to settle down and be still. Twenty minutes and almost an entire roll of film later he succeeds much to everyone's great relief. Justin might not have been happy then but now he is glad. That particular moment is five years ago. Just before the Wizard's Competition.
Despite constant quibbles and spars to annoy and attract attention, Justin, Alex and Max are close. Max, the youngest, serves as the comedian of the trio. Whether it by complete obliviousness to most of life or some unique outlook upon it seldom is there a dull moment when he is around. From jumping garbage cans with his bike, to creating the super hero Maxi – Man or carving a club-house out of a gigantically grown pumpkin with the aid of magic, he is endlessly confounding Justin and Alex, much less his parents, as to his antics. Alex, the middle child, the cunning rebel, is always discovering new and interesting ways to find trouble. More often than not somehow her brilliant plan backfires and she, much to her chagrin, is forced to rely on Justin to bail her out. Justin, being the oldest, strives to be perfect. Forever on a quest for knowledge he is never satisfied with just knowing how to accomplish something, he wants to know why it reacted; why it exploded; why it fizzled and foamed.
Although Max and particularly Alex are constant pains in his backside, they complete him. They fill the parts of his heart his own personality cannot. Together, they are brothers, sister, best friends, and family. No matter what trials seem to threaten their bond it always turns out stronger than before. As the deadline to the Competition approaches, the tension noticeably increases. Even Max, oblivious to mostly everything occurring around him feels the stress. Alex, finally realizing that years of avoidance in the arcane arts have left her at a serious disadvantage begins to, at long last, concentrate and redouble her efforts. Max, in a similar fashion does the same. The attempt is too little too late. Justin, the dutiful pupil, always striving to not just understand but dissect, rearrange, expand and improve upon what he learns, over powers his younger siblings despite their valiant efforts.
In spite of a pact and a promise they made to their parents to do the contrary, over the course of a few years the three grow apart or as in the case with Alex immediately following. Justin, proficient in monster hunting before the Wizard Competition emerges as a young prodigy after.
His newfound spells and influence does not go unnoticed. He is rapidly promoted in the highly antiquated and effectually defunct Magical Services Office. Noticing the innumerable flaws, he uses his high-ranking power as Director of Magical Services to reorganize several different monster, demon, spell monitoring, and usage divisions into one. Overnight he effectively becomes the founder of the Bureau of Para-Magical Investigations. The building itself exists for quite some time but by the time Justin becomes director all space is a premium and all of the equipment is obsolete. Worse, the Bureau's policies are even more archaic, detrimentally so. Often when useful information is gathered it requires a prohibitive amount of time for anyone to act on it. This is doubly felt if it must cross jurisdictions or divisions. Justin's careful planning changes all of this in just over a year. In addition to equipment being modernized, communication, training and the deployment of teams is all streamlined. The building too receives a facelift, gracefully expanded into the heavens, and adorned with all the flashy, modern looks, all green technology of course. The Bureau is now able to effectively carryout what it is intended to do: allow and ensure the safe, ethical use of magic for all.
The bronze plaque hanging on the wall reminds him of the Bureau's vision statement, a few short sentences that take Justin nearly a week of constant and agonizing contemplation to formulate.
We are family. We go into the unknown. Chaos or tranquility, accomplishing what others cannot. We are learners'. We are watchers'. Peace or hate we go where others refuse. We are hope. We are justice.
Next to it are a dozen or so awards and honors of various sorts. Although frequently he looks at the recognition given to him seldom does he reflect about it in the way he does when staring at the small six by eight color photograph of three siblings smiling, shoulder-to-shoulder.
Justin picks up the silver frame and he allows the memories to form, flow and cascade in whatever direction they decide to take. As they collide and merge to generate a collage of his life Justin begins to feel the sadness and regret build inside. As difficult as it is to cope with the separation from Max, Alex, despite her many character flaws, is much harder. It is her constant meddling and blatant disregard for rules – particularly those of her parents regarding magic that integrally shapes how he made the current policies and choices.
Contrary to popular belief, the Bureau doesn't operate exclusively on magic or spells. When Justin reorganizes the Bureau he insists on utilizing 'normal' devices in addition to magical. The apparent reason is for security. But Justin offers a dissimilar view. He is concerned that employees would become too accustom to doing things the 'easy way' and become lax in their work. He always emphasizes that to solve a dilemma it begins and ends with the mind. Technology, and especially magic cannot replace cold, hard logic and intuition. They are only tools to accomplish the mission.
Regardless of his views on the matter Alex, more than even his parents, leaves a deep impression, a void that cannot simply be filled in or bridged. Justin feels his eyes begin to water. He never wanted or intended for them to ever break apart like they did. Looking back on it now, knowing what he does, he isn't even sure if the Wizard Competition is worth the terrible price, magic or no magic. Nonetheless, it is far too late for second guesses. Justin knows this but does so anyway. He swallows down the ever-growing lump of self-loathing and guilt threatening to overwhelm his senses.
He wakens from his flashbacks with a very abrupt and unpleasant start to the sound of the phone on his desk. It continues to ring loudly as he opens his eyes, wincing as the morning sun greets a face used to the dark. Cursing under his breath he turns his attention to the annoying appliance and resists the urge to toss it against the wall. Instead he picks up the receiver.
"Director Russo."
"Sir," the voice on the other end isn't one he recognizes. "Did I interrupt you?"
"No, just a late night," Justin rubs his forehead with the tips of his fingers thinking that this disturbance had better be important. "What's the problem?" He struggles to keep the agitation from out of his voice.
Apparently he didn't succeed, "I apologize to bother you Sir but we are detecting a level six disturbance. Director Starvos is requesting your presence in the Operation Center." Whatever remnants of sleep were still there leaves Justin as he hears the news.
Due to the sheer size of the organization, the amount of information, and number of people involved there are multiple branches of leadership. A combination of government, corporate and military ranks, Justin as the Director of Para-Magical Investigations is at the top. Exactly beneath, and accountable solely to him, are Deputy Directors. Kara Starvos is one of them. In Justin's opinion she is also the most proficient of the group. For her to require a second opinion, much less assistance is unlike her. This is especially true for a disturbance that, in his judgment, is quite mild given her record of success, even if it is a level six.
The rating system, simple in purpose is quite elegant in its design. The format, while not created by Kara and Justin, is completely redesigned. Now it straightforwardly allows for quick categorization of monsters and dispersal of crisis teams based on the projected danger. Infractions range from zero to ten with the higher the number being more serious an issue. Generally violations below a two are ignored or left to neophytes in training. Three to five ratings, especially those with the latter higher moniker, are usually investigated. Level six is a moderate issue. Usually they occur when a particularly unkind, unruly monster refuses to co-operate and live peacefully. Anything beyond six demands immediate attention and is considered extremely high risk due to the potential for demonic activity. That, if found or detected requires an entirely different response.
His response is quick, devoid of trace of weariness, "I understand. I will be there shortly. Keep me informed if the situation changes."
He hangs up the phone and stands, stretching. It is yet another night that he spends on his desk. The habit is one he continually tells himself that he will cease. Nonetheless somehow, despite the best attempts to the contrary, keeps repeating. However, being prepared he goes to a nearby closet pulling out a clean, flawlessly pressed white shirt and black pants. Since his office is private he quickly changes, washing his face and brushing his teeth before heading to the elevators.
At a moderate jog it takes seven minutes for him to reach the tracking center from his top floor office. Every second of travel time is spent designing various scenarios. The lack of information is strangely comforting. Contemplation without details allows one to see more options and seek alternatives that might be overlooked otherwise. Of course, it also means that one could be on the entirely wrong path. For Justin, the exercise is much more about keeping his mind shape rather than actively trying to guess what Kara has in store for him. Using a swipe card and a well-placed handprint he passes through the last security door. Another turn and he goes by yet another door and an invisible magical barrier enacted to prevent light and unauthorized users from entering.
The ceiling lights are dimmed to provide just enough illumination to read and write comfortably while allowing maximum visibility to the myriad assortment of equipment scattered about the room. A large conference table is in the center. Along the left wall a female wizard is carefully controlling one of the crystal balls, its normally transparent appearance hazy, as if filled by dark smoke or clouds. Occasionally a burst of color breaks through the fog to elucidate the near immediate area and in an instant vanishing as quickly as it appears. The right has a special station for psychic boosters and detection, a technician diligently concentrating. The middle wall, the one adjacent to Justin, in addition to half of the conference table contains a row of highly sophisticated computers. Two of these are stationed. Directly across is the heart of the entire center, the two massive touch-display screens. Starting four feet off the floor all the way to the ceiling and spanning half the room, they are impressive. The Operations Center or Ops for short is a perfect merger of technology and magic. Standing across the room watching the entire scene and with particular interest at the screens, is Kara Starvos.
As Justin enters the room he doesn't immediately recognize or even look for Kara. Instead his attention, out of habit, is focused on the information on the wall displays. Kara does the opposite and moves towards him as soon as he steps into the room. A native of New York, she inherits the best from each of her parents, is of medium build and curvy in all the right places. Light brown hair ending gracefully just below the shoulder is dutifully restrained into a tight ponytail. Her bangs are cut to accent her face, blue eyes and pale complexion. She wears similar business attire as Justin only with a dark navy blue skirt and white blouse. Matching high heels make her seem a few more inches taller and that much more imposing and intimidating. She is attractive and knows it although she never flaunts or uses her appearance to influence those around her. Not that she ever needs too. Her personality bleeds intelligence, confidence, utilized always in a polite and dignified manner.
Having worked from the bottom up she knows the ins and outs, the stresses and difficulties of the tasks entrusted to those beneath her. Despite being soft spoken she is serious, stern, demanding, and wholeheartedly devoted to the Bureau and it's' cause. In a similar fashion as Justin, she earns the respect of others instead of undeservingly been promoted through the ranks. This reason more than any other allows her to stand out.
"Director Russo, thank you for coming," she walks until she is standing next to him, extending her right hand to which Justin shakes firmly. "I thought you might want to see this for yourself. We, a moment ago detected a level six-."
Justin blinks. "How many?" This perceptibly is not the news he is expecting.
"Two." Kara, well aware of what is transpiring in Justin's head smiles, "I'm aware you also like having answers to the 'who, what, when, where, why. I can't give you the complete picture but at least it's partially filled in." As if on cue a map appears on one of the wall displays. The picture shown is a topographical map. Although certainly capable of extrapolating 3-D features from the otherwise 2-D graphic it does not.
Justin doesn't recognize the region and glances at her questioningly. Having a photographic memory helps considerably. This is especially true when it comes to maps. But he still doesn't have the faintest clue where this place is. It appears to be a large peninsula, probably a seafaring town from the looks of it. All of this is absolutely crucial information. Everyone in the Ops Center comprehends this too.
"Yes, your puzzlement is not misplaced. I am too," Kara correctly reads the blank look on Justin's face. While she may lack his particular gift she is no slouch herself and her talents for terrain identification are substantial as well. "We ran the algorithms and no match was found."
"The software couldn't find it either?" Justin asks. The question is rhetorical, Kara, having worked with Justin for some time knows it.
She moves to a nearby console and taps a few buttons. "Here is where it gets interesting," another tap and a blinking red symbol appears in the northwest quadrant of the map. "This is the signature we detected tonight," Kara taps a few more times, "Here is yesterday night," another tap and symbol appears; this one below the first separated by a few inches. "Two nights ago," as previously the blue marker appears parallel to the first. "Three nights ago," she turns to the keyboard once more and a fourth appears, below the previous one. Together they form a three by three inch, perfect square.
Justin is stunned, "Are you saying there are four different incursions?" Kara cautiously nods in agreement. "Why did we not discover this earlier?"
Kara shifts her attention back to the map, purposely avoiding the penetrating gaze that Justin is offering. "The timing could not have been more perfect. Simply, we were lax in our responsibilities. Nothing like this has occurred since last week. Not even a hiccup of activity. I offered most of my staff time off, as did Charles. We were running on skeleton shifts."
Charles Trujillo is another executive director. Unlike Kara or Justin he was with the Bureau prior to the reorganization. Talented though he is, frequently he's skeptical, critical even, of how the "younger generation," a mildly insulting reference to Justin and Kara - manages. This only increases with Justin being promoted over him. Officially he remains professional, but this does not stop antics that border on the childish, he continuing to frustrate and hamper both at every chance.
"I know you did the same. What we were looking for was in the wrong place. Frankly I'm surprised we revealed as much as we did." Justin, assuming there is more keeps his mouth shut as Kara isolates the region of the map with the blue dots and zooms in until both wall displays are filled. "What we do know is that these were detected at the same time. That in itself is puzzling."
Justin nods remaining quiet, his mind working. "And terrain matching was a failure?" Kara nods. "I don't believe this is ordinary. Look," he uses a finger to plainly connect the dots, a line appearing as he does. When he is done a square is formed, becoming rather clear as it is highlighted. "The real focus should be here," he points to the center.
Kara nods again. "Yes. I agree. But I believe an investigation team should check out the other locations. We may miss something if we don't."
Justin rubs his chin in thought, "We still have a problem. Until we figure out where exactly this place is we have nowhere to send the teams," he takes out his wand and begins to earnestly tap, using it as a wizard phone. Kara interrupts him just as he is about to finish dialing.
"Don't bother. I already re-called Alpha and Bravo teams. They should be here within the hour," says Kara, Justin looking at her with surprise. "Don't look so shocked," she knowingly smirks. "This is too abnormal to not take the precautions."
"Yes, your right, of course," replies Justin he rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers again. I definitely need more sleep at night. I'm far from my peak performance. He sighs again before going to a coffee pot that, from the smells has the freshly brewed drink. Using a foam cup he pours it, adding cream and sugar before swallowing a good portion of it down. The near scalding liquid shocks his brain into action once more.
"Ma'am, Sir, administrator McFly is calling from the Rome Branch. He is on the emergency channel and requesting immediate conference," the operator from one of the stations says. Justin glances at the operator than at Kara, the name suddenly sounding familiar. A face quickly pops into his mind.
Mike McFly is a rather short man. Roundish around the belly and one to wear outlandish clothing, the kind that sparkles and has gold trim; he doesn't make an imposing, dominative figure. In a rather peculiar sort of circumstances he ends up working as an official Wizard Test Taker. Under the direct authority of the Wizard Council he has few bosses, and substantial power. He has the ability to make the choice whether someone, or an entire family, loses their magical powers forever. The job is as much a curse as it is necessary. He, more than anyone else, sees the destitute remains of family after family as magic dissipates the bonds between loved ones. During his many years of service one of the brightest moments of his career is seeing the unity and passion of one family in particular, the Russo's. Priding their relationships more than the magic the two brothers and sister, along with their uncle, and father give up their powers. Left speechless, and dually impressed by this amazing display of affection, he allows all of them to keep their magic, in a blatant disregard for the rules.
Of course, the Russo's never speak a word about how this happened, nor did he. Regardless, soon thereafter the Council finds out. Immediately his duties are suspended pending an abrupt investigation, one that leaves no question as to his guilt. Fortunately for the Russo's, once the record is written, it cannot be undone. The decree, even if incorrect, remains in force, perfectly, legally valid. This does not please the Council in the least. When the inquiry is over McFly is fired.
He remains unemployed for a very short period. A long time friend, Charles Trujello is able to place him as administrator of a monster hunting station in Rome, Italy. The job description is far less glamorous, and considerably more boring. Sitting on your fat behind day in day out waiting for the ever-rare monster to appear makes time pass slowly. Nevertheless, he does his duty. He disgraced himself once previously and is determined not to do so a second time, even if it means doing this lowly task. Sure he may have a small staff, and a few monster hunters, none of this may be put to good use without something to track, or hunt.
Tonight is no different than the norm. He is alone sitting at a reasonably comfortable swivel office chair, legs propped up on the desk. One hand is contently utilizing his fork in a manner far more common to that of a shovel as bite after enormous bite of lasagna disappears. In his other hand he flips casually through the dismal selection of television channels. The various displays and monitors along the wall showing, as they always do, normal status, no anomalies detected. Being a weekday and past primetime of course he cannot find anything worthy of casting his eyes on for thirty minutes, much less sixty. The few employed beneath him often think the same thing. With so little work to be done and boredom so commonplace being placed off-duty seems more of a punishment than reward. Compatriots working comparable duties around the world appear to have a common attitude. Transfers to get out are near one hundred percent, and those wanting in are slightly above zero. Mike McFly though does not care. All of that is irrelevant. His pride, his honor will not allow him to quit, even if ever fiber of his being screams to do just that.
Having just found a decent movie to watch, and with the main plot unfolding, the surprise at hearing the klaxons blare loudly is quite great. He jumps out of his chair startled, the now empty lasagna tray falling on to the floor. Turning another shock greets him, the myriad electronic surveillance equipment all show a demon has been detected. A red dot is automatically identified and highlighted by the computers tracking the monster. Normally this would be of no consequence, but tonight of all nights McFly has few options. No other staff is present and all the response teams are out of place.
Of course, when a singular problem happens rarely is it accompanied alone. In complete, utter disbelief and unfathomable horror, the first dot is joined by a second.
The astonishment wears off fast and his brain takes over. Bored he may be but no one is going to criticize him for being un-prepared. That is why he insists on daily drills, and not all of them scheduled much to the dismay of his employees. Frustrating, as his methods might be they are successful in preparing everyone, him included. By now the diagnostic check is complete, proving that this is indeed genuine and not some false alarm. Started immediately the first alarm sounded confirms his fears. With a racing heart, a sweat-laden hand grabs a white, bound notebook. Quickly he flips through the rarely touched pages to find the correct protocol. Everything is already done. The teams are being assembled but require an hour or more.
The last line, in big, beautiful letters stands out more than the thousand or more other lines of the same drab, black text.
Contact Bureau North America
While the text is written to be helpful, in truth it's far more comparable to double edged sword. In the right circumstances a perfect instrument of design and grace. Lacking the aptitude using such a tool is dangerous. The skill set he is struggling with may not be years of dedication and practice with a weapon, but one of management and foresight. Contacting what amounts to your boss, one with plenty of excuses to not want you around leaves adequate incentive to not do exactly what he is considering. Doing nothing though, could very well result in the same conclusion. After all, those allowed to lead must be reasonable in their duties, fathoming when they need assistance, and when those in a higher position of authority should be involved.
The choice he ultimately makes is a rather easy one at that. Sure, of course his job may be forfeit, but at this point in time, he does not care. He made a mistake in the past. He will not do the same again. With another dot appearing on the screen he picks up his wand and begins dialing.
What else is going to go wrong now? Justin thinks. Most outright fear contacting Bureau Headquarters, even at the expense of aggravating an already tense or dangerous situation. The emergency channel is established specifically for such an occasion. When everything is entirely out of control and urgent help is needed. The few times this is used may be counted on one hand. When the communiqué is actually warranted is even fewer still.
"Put it through on Screen One. Maintain tracking on Screen Two," Kara says.
Mike McFly's face appears on the large display, clearly upset. The expression on his face changes to pure shock, as both Justin and Kara stare back at him. "Ma'am, Sir, forgive the interruption, I've got two-" another alarm blares causing him to turn away. The tapping of keys is heard before he returns.
"Make that four, incursions, all level six. I don't have nearly enough manpower to handle this may you send assistance?"
"Four? When did were they first detected?" Kara says.
"Minutes ago. We haven't had anything appear for weeks. Certainly nothing anywhere close to this caliber; I don't even have a team skilled enough to handle a six. They were reassigned months ago."
He almost is sounding shameful of situation. Admitting that you are helpless often does that to one's pride. Justin surmises. I can't really blame him either. I personally made dozens of decisions like that when I was first appointed. He sighs before moving to a console directly connecting the computers in New York to their counterparts in Rome. A second later what Mike McFly is seeing is also being shown to them. Side by side the patterns look eerily familiar. Another moment passes for Kara to catch on. After the time zones are considered, the emergences, separated by two oceans, on two unlike continents, in two completely dissimilar cities, are exactly the same.
Justin feels as if he has been punched in the stomach. What is going on here? There must be a connection. What is the connection? His head, already reeling is a quickly listing, sinking ship, and his talented, nimble mind is in overdrive, shifting into yet an even higher gear.
One of Justin's greatest talents is the able to extrapolate, often quite accurately what is going to happen. The more information he has available the lesser his percentage of error. As a teenager, this trait is largely hidden, even he being unaware of his strength. That does not mean his talent is under-utilized. Alex frequently challenges his worldly notion of logic and integrity. She may not exactly know where his talent derives, but she likely more than anyone else, fathoms the depth, precision, and raw audacity he uses to execute his plans.
The very skill he is becoming so praised for isn't dead luck or proficiency as much as it is recognition of patterns. Past history is an excellent teacher. Justin's bailing-out-of-trouble relationship with Alex exemplifies this point. Constantly in trouble, unable to find a solution; Alex, by not changing her methodologies, or constant strategies of deceit and deception, guarantees that the solution, regardless of the root cause, generally follow the same overall plan. History repeats history, past experience; old, well-known patterns are logical guides of what is going to happen in the future. Based on this postulation the rapid dispatching of teams to contain, and if necessary destroy the intruders is the correct approach. Since he, along with all those present, cannot find a reasonable line of familiarity between the two detections, he, begrudgingly concludes they must be some horrible sorts of coincidence.
Even if they are not, what variation would this make? Justin's options for response are limited without more information. Simply knowing what the creature or creatures is or are would make a world of difference. The fact the computers do not know means that they are reduced to going through thousands of pages of books for identification. Of course, this is impossible without a valid, reasonably high quality picture. If at any point doubt comes into play this is it. Nonetheless, years of training and self-structure overcome the worst of this issue.
Justin starts to outline his plan of action, Kara leaping into action. The pair having worked together for some time moves as a coordinated team, dispatching the correct personal to the required places for this current crisis. He is doing everything by the book, what experience, colleagues, history say is proper. Kara, capable of questioning, or even reversing some of Justin's orders does not. She has no reason too. He is doing everything she would. Never does he ever believe that what he is doing is not right.
He is doing everything in the approved manner, and everything is still completely a mistake.
The only one aware of the error is the very same who orchestrated the entire, deliberate, delicate operation. Justin is doing exactly what a diabolically crafty, unfathomably powerful, demon predicts. What no one may discern is that the occurrences happening on two sides of the globe are the culmination of hundred's of years. Centuries of unleashing the same pitiful excuses of demons to the Earth have whittled away the human's, or rather wizard's impression of the creatures bordering on that of slightly above intelligent. The pleasant side affect of this belief is a standardization of Bureau policies that have become so engrained that the notion of having to go beyond what is written on paper, unchanged for centuries, is absurd, as fantastic in thought as it is to think differently about the feeble demons they contain at every turn.
Justin, for all his aptitude, despite the employees and equipment at his disposal, cannot conceive of the notion of being outdone. Not because it isn't possible, but because no demon has successfully outwit the Wizard Council, and it's subordinates (including the Bureau) governing the use of magic.
The cyclic wheel of history is about to leave those who rely upon it the most in the dust by making a complete turn to the side, on a course mapped out using an otherwise perfectly straight road.