Callimachus set the old binder on the dining room table of their rented beach cottage; hotel rooms were far too easy to trace. "The original of this is in the Smithsonian. Not that they know what they have, or they'd be deluged in scholars instead of letting it languish in their archives." He opened the folder to vivid photos of warriors painted on cave walls, decked in finery of white and gold, skin rendered in shades of white and green and blue. "Fortunately, one of the non-archaeologists present when these ruins were seen by Western eyes decided they had artistic merit, and set about capturing every image she could while the so-called historians spent the time they had in Tajikistan arguing over whose dating method was more wrong."

"Tajikistan?" Phaenomena walked around the table to catch the photos from different angles as he turned pages. "Are you sure?"

"Caves in the Pamir Mountains, not far from the shores of Karakul," Callimachus nodded. "The Black Lake on the Roof of the World. Haven to birds of all sorts, yet there's only one species of fish native to it. Which makes rather more sense when you learn it's an impact crater."

"And lore about Solomon's power is often tied up with things hitting Earth at high speeds," the martial artist murmured. "But Tajikistan?" She shook her head. "Those look like Hindu devas."

"There is evidence they may predate the devas. Or, indeed, Hinduism itself." Callimachus let his fingers linger on the odd, flowing script in some of the images; sometimes alone, sometimes alongside a cuneiform-like array of wedge-shapes and dots. "The Proto-Indo-Europeans are a great mystery. We don't know who they really were; we don't even positively know when they originated as a tribe. But somewhere over five thousand years ago a culture appeared that revered a sky father, worked magic, and tended to commit heroic poetry at the drop of a bridle. And where we find their languages, we find certain legends." He pointed to one line of the text he'd committed to memory. "The translations are sketchy, at best. But one of the most reliable claims these are the Djinn Warriors."

Phaenomena let out a slow breath. "That doesn't sound like something you could keep locked in a lamp."

"Indeed not," Callimachus agreed, turning another page. Aha. "And one of these warriors is named Sinbaddo, Lord of Sindria."

Phaenomena stared at faded white, gold, and purple. "Magister, are you saying this is an ancient Sinbad tall tale? In a landlocked country?"

"I am saying there is evidence the tales may have a common origin. And that original myth may in fact be a legend older than we can imagine." Callimachus traced his fingers above the triptych of images: purple-cloaked king, blue-skinned draconic spirit, and dragon-armored warrior. "You find these trios throughout the paintings. Interpretations vary, but I believe they depict a mortal king, a deva or heavenly power, and the king possessed, drawing on the spirit's power in battle."

"Okay," Phaenomena said warily, as he turned more pages. "So what do ancient Sinbad legends have to do with-"

Callimachus turned to the page he'd sought; gold, white, and red, blond tails of hair flowing in a fiery aura. An image they'd last seen in breathing life, standing atop an indignant dragon, before a black sword brought down a lance of blazing fire.

Phaenomena choked. "No way."

"This," Callimachus declared, "may be one of the earliest depictions of the Fire Prince."


Malachy glanced at the far corner of the dojo, checking up on Morgan as she showed Aladdin the various protective wear more advanced students needed, and went over exactly why. From the way the magi was turning green, she'd just gotten to groin protection.

Good. That'll keep them both busy.

There was only one way to tackle two edging-toward-bloodily-stubborn Fanalis boys, Malachy knew, eyeing his sons as they finished laying out the biker chains he planned to use for a class demonstration later. Head on. "All right," he murmured, low enough that even Morgan wouldn't make it out. "Let's hear it." Which all his children knew meant he wanted straight answers, no matter how unpleasant. They could sort out shoulds and coulds later. "Why don't you like Alan?"

"Um..." Ianatan looked at his older brother. Dougal tried to look just as blandly back.

Malachy raised a waiting brow.

Dougal took a deep breath, and shrugged. "...He has cheesy pickup lines."

Spoken from the lofty age of eighteen. Though Malachy had to admit that was a valid point. MacLeas tended to use few words, so they appreciated artistry in the use of those they did toss out into the world. If Alan had verbally fumbled just trying to talk to a pretty girl, his boys would be as unimpressed as if he'd fallen on a sharp pointy object.

Still. Being unimpressed was not nearly the same as being threatening. Malachy would grant that Alan might have frayed nerves and a hyperactive sense for potential danger, but the boy had felt threatened. And no serious student of his dojo should ever, ever do that unless they intended to mop the floor with someone. "So you decided to loom."

"Well, yeah." Ianatan dared to grin. "No wimpy rich kid with bad lines is getting near our Morg!"

Though he looked just a little uncertain after that. Probably recalling fire, and a dragon, and who knew what else.

"Hmm." Malachy listened through the wall to the chaos going on next door. Too quiet to be the musical havoc of blade-dances; too noisy to be silent sword-drill. Promising. He motioned to Morgan to stay, help your younger student, and crooked a finger.

No idiots, his sons followed.

Three MacLeas peered through the window of Tiburon's door, unwilling to disrupt a class in progress. Especially since this was as much demonstration as teaching, as Tiburon did his best to pin Alan down and flatten him, while Alan floated in and out of range like a storm-tossed leaf.

Granted, a very tired leaf. But Malachy could glance to either side and note his boys grimacing as they took in the high stance, the relaxed muscles even as the grip was firm; the way Alan used footwork rather than overreach whenever attack or defense would require him to move his hands too far from his center.

That's right, boys, Malachy thought wryly. He's not as strong as a Fanalis. And he knows it. And unlike you two, he's thought about what that means. "If he overreaches, he's dead," he murmured to his boys. "If he pits muscle against muscle, he's dead. If he leaves an opening, he's dead. If he counts on any one hit putting his opponent down... that's not happening. And he knows it."

It was over in less than a minute. Tiburon got past a guard Alan hadn't quite held steady, and nodded at the youngster to stand down. "Good. We'll take that apart later, when you can see straight."

Giving his instructor a respectful nod, despite his shakes, Alan wove over to the rest of the class and sat down.

Tiburon kept his eyes on his class, though from the tilt of his head, Malachy knew he knew he was being watched. And probably by whom. "Take note," the swordsman said simply. "Alan doesn't mess around. He knows I'm older, more skilled, and stronger. He goes for the killshot. But he also knows he may not get it. So every move he makes, he's thinking of how he is not going to be the one bleeding out on the floor. His objective is not to die heroically. His objective is to stop his opponent. However he has to." Green eyes flicked across the watching class, grimly amused. "This is not someone you want to threaten."

To either side of him, Malachy could feel his sons tense.

"Okay." Tiburon dusted his hands off. "Let's work on some close-quarters drills. There's a reason early samurai carried a tanto..."

Malachy reached up, and firmly gripped each son by the ear. "And now that you understand what you overlooked while you were smirking about cheesy lines... Morgan would like to have a few words with you. About the proper behavior of a MacLea toward civilians, and taking care of herself, and letting her decide who's good enough to meet the family." His grin might just barely have shown fangs. "On the dojo floor."


It looks like the boys were paying attention, Tiburon thought, not cracking a smile at the scuffs and bruises as he sat down with Alan and the others at the MacLea kitchen table. It'd taken him a long time to notice, and an even longer time for Malachy to quietly admit it, but MacLeas would bounce back from that level of damage in a day or less. Unlike the teenager they'd been none-too-subtly threatening. And both boys knew that, damn it. Which was why Tiburon had been quite happy to help deliver that barely-veiled warning this afternoon. Hopefully that would be enough. Malachy's sons might be young and overflowing with troublesome energy, but they weren't stupid.

They have to be smart, Tiburon thought, trying not to be grim about it. And they have to be even smarter now. What Ja'far told me about Fanalis-

Honestly, Tiburon was surprised he'd learned as much over the years as he had. Once Malachy had realized that yes, he really was Simon's friend; yes, he really loved the fighting arts for the practical aspects of messing an attacker up, not just looking pretty for pictures; and no, he had absolutely no intention of mentioning anything about MacLeas to his military associates beyond "good self-defense dojo"...

Well, Malachy hadn't told him a lot. But he'd let Tiburon watch, and listen, and figure out the truth for himself.

MacLeas stay out of the military. For a damn good reason.

Cops, fine. Firefighters, paramedics, Search and Rescue, other places where a sudden burst of strength or speed would be brushed off by people too busy surviving to notice - you could find quiet redheads in all of the above. Not to mention game wardens, park rangers, Alaskan fishermen, and countless other little niches where, so long as the job got done and no one saw stray bodies lying around, no one bothered you. But official armed forces? It was family tradition that was a very bad idea. MacLeas would make it work if they got drafted, and they were hell on wheels when it came to guerilla fighting, but between the cranky attitude of I protect my pride, who the hell are you? and the temptation for any officer to keep throwing them at the enemy, because they were just so good at it...

Morgan's mother had been in the National Guard, and died for it. Her father had very neatly straightened out his affairs, signed over her guardianship to Malachy and Shionne, and disappeared somewhere in northwest Pakistan. Tiburon hadn't been able to learn much, it'd been years over by the time he knew to ask, but the few scraps he had picked up on the shadowy grapevine said there was one vicious little tribe that didn't exist anymore.

And now some of the Fanalis can break rocks just by stamping hard, Tiburon reflected. Hate to say it, but Simon's right. We need to train everybody who has any knack for magic and fighting, just to give the rest of us cover when someone else slips.

Because human nature being what it was, sooner or later someone would be an idiot. Though if it really was someone riding a carpet over the Washington Monument, Simon would never let them forget it.

Just don't let it be our people who are the idiots, Tiburon prayed. Actors, film, special effects - Simon has a good plan. Let's stick to it.

From Malachy's calm expression as he helped Shionne bring fried fish and greens to the table, he thought his boys had learned their lesson. For now.

Let's hope so, Tiburon thought, bowing his head as the MacLeas said grace. It wasn't a habit he'd grown up with, but years of working with people who made family traditions of putting their lives on the line had gotten him used to it. I wouldn't call those two friendly, yet. But at least they don't look like they're a heartbeat from catching Alan in a dark alley.

"Thank you for the fish." Shionne smiled at him. A compact, willowy redhead who looked barely ten years older than her adopted daughter, she handed around dinner with a grace and gentle civility that could make a man forget she could break an enemy's neck with one swift yank. If she weren't happily married, Tiburon would have asked her on a date years ago.

But she was, and he'd always seen how quietly happy the pair were together, and there was absolutely no substitute for having people you could trust when you felt like Hell had backed a steamroller over you. Twice. So Tiburon just smiled, bar-flirting manners left packed away like an unwanted dress shirt. "Least I could do, bringing half a hungry horde down on you. Aladdin? Breathe between bites."

"Aw," Aladdin chomped, "s'good-"

The blade of Shionne's hand thumped gently down on the magi's forehead. "Manners."

"...Ow." Teary blue eyes blinked up at her. "Yes, ma'am."

No problems with appetite there, Tiburon decided, before taking a longer look at his apprentice swordsman. Alan wasn't facedown in his plate, but he was eating with the slow, deliberate motions of someone all too aware they were likely to stab themselves with a careless fork.

He's done this before. Been this exhausted before. Often enough to know how badly he could slip.

Which raised all kinds of questions, and Tiburon wasn't quite sure how to go about getting the answers. Yet.

Especially since he's just as rattled as I am, Tiburon reflected. Sparring helped, but getting caught in those chains, even if you could break free - it wasn't as bad as facing down a bullet. But close.

Simon hadn't even tried to make his students finish a regular day of classes. He'd called everyone into the auditorium, teachers and students alike, and given them the facts straight between the eyes.

"Officially, we had an arson attack. Unofficially, we had an arson attack, a magical attack, and a dragon."

That had pretty much done in the physics teacher. Malachy had had to lean in and frown at the man to make Mr. Stafford stop trying to climb under his seat.

"The alchemist who attacked us goes by the name of Callimachus. Note, people, the Greek nom de guerre. This man has obviously never read the Evil Overlord List."

Ah, Simon. You had to either love the man, or try to kill him. Possibly both.

"You should also note his spell didn't hit people who've done well in the tower as hard as it hit everyone else. There's a reason for that, but it won't make any sense unless you're willing to accept that the normal laws of physics are missing a few pieces."

At that, even Malachy's frown couldn't keep Stafford from paling.

"Over this coming week we'll see which of you would benefit from this additional and sometimes violent course of study, and which of you shouldn't be allowed near it with a ten-meter cattle prod. I expect some of you, or your parents, will want to transfer somewhere else. Anywhere else. I'm not going to force anyone to stay. But if you want to tough it out, if you want to see the impossible in life as well as film, even if you're just curious about what happened today - we will find some way you can do this. There is no such thing as someone who can't learn to handle danger. Only someone who won't.

"We need costumers, effects people, cameramen. We need people in the bio lab willing to take apart giant crabs, and artists - computer and pencil, both - to sketch them from gills to claws, so when it comes time to edit in post we all know what monsters should look like. Composers, stuntmen, actors - we're going to need all of you.

"I want a five-paragraph essay from each of you on what struck you the most about today. What scared you? What excited you? What did you want to know more about? What would you want to have, if something like this happened again? What would you want to do?" Simon had paused, then, purple-dyed brow arched with regal humor. "Aaaugh, while a valid and concise comment, does not count as part of your essay. No, not even if you use it to fill a whole page."

That got a laugh from the students. Even a few of the teachers; though Tiburon planned to keep a careful eye on them. History said the most unassuming people could be the ones who adapted most easily to a suddenly lethal environment. He just hoped a fair number of the teachers Simon had hired were as flexible as those World War II-era spies of yore.

Then again, these teachers had been working for Simon. Most of the less flexible types had left years ago.

"I don't expect Callimachus to be back," Simon had reflected. "He wasted a lot of resources for very little gain, and so far he hasn't been stupid. We've found remnants of his nasty little trap, and if Mr. Stafford has been so kind as to mention quantum entanglement and spooky action at a distance, you might be able to guess that we can use that, if he dares to breach the grounds again. So if he does come back, I intend to deal with him. Outside of that - assume you should read the next chapter in all classes missed due to hot firemen!"

Sitting at Malachy's table now, with people who knew the world could be this incredible, Tiburon felt very, very lucky.

"Thinking?" Malachy asked, as people made their way through the first buttery round of cornmeal-fried catfish and bitter greens.

"We're going to be leaning on Simon's ability to keep people moving like never before," Tiburon admitted. "What happened today was scary even for me, and I knew all of it was possible. Once more of the students have time to think, we'll have a lot of shaken-up people." He glanced at Alan. "Not just because it was frightening. Parts of it were wonderful. Happiness can shake you just as badly as terror." Tiburon hadn't encountered anything as frightening as the days he knew one of his under the table students was about to deploy after just becoming a father. They were overwhelmed, overjoyed - and all too likely, sleep-deprived. They made mistakes.

If he were a praying man, he'd pray every time.

"We were attacked by an alchemist who wanted to kill us, a dragon who wanted to eat us, and who knows where Phaenomena was, maybe she's still hiding out in a janitor's closet waiting for someone to walk by alone, I could just see Dash trying to tackle her before she popped his jaw to break his spine-" Alan cut himself off. "Just what about this afternoon was happy?"

Urk. Tiburon hid a frown, suddenly tense.

"We won," Aladdin said firmly.

"And you got to punch a dragon in the nose," Morgan smiled.

"Lucky," Dougal muttered under his breath.

"Guys." Alan seemed to find the flower pattern on his plate incredibly interesting. "That was not luck. Luck is a quarter on the sidewalk, or getting the last good peaches in the discard pile before the fruit stand tosses stuff for the day, or- Gah. That was temporary insanity."

Which was not the thing to say in a household full of MacLeas. Tiburon took a deep breath, ready to make their excuses and go if their hosts felt offended.

Though he hoped they didn't. Malachy and Shionne did teach more ordinary people, after all. And if it weren't for Simon and his breezy confidence that Hancock could handle this threat, a lot of the students would be hiding under their beds.

Alan kept his gaze down as the silence stretched out. "That- that thing with the dragon. I don't know what you saw. But from the inside? I know sanity. And that wasn't it." Hands gripped his shirt cuffs, knuckles pale. "Can we talk about something else? Like how to make sure we don't get another dragon out of the tower? Baal's got a pretty loose definition of safe." He slipped a folded piece of paper out of a pocket, flattened it on the tablecloth. "I'm trying to figure it out, but there's too many variables. Did we stay in the safe zone too long? Did Kwan just happen to run in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or did we run into... a level imbalance, I guess? A bunch of people who can fight the monsters with a bunch of people who don't know how yet, and the random encounter table pulled out the stops?" He glanced around the table. "Any ideas?"

Fighting the dragon wasn't sane. Tiburon's eyes narrowed. There had to be more to it than that. Alan had been all too willing to fight dragons with them when he knew there was a good chance no one would make it out alive. Why was it different now, when he'd apparently been more than capable of taking on one dragon by himself and saving everyone-

My god. Stage fright.

Well, Simon would probably call it that. Making it seem simple, something to just face down and get over with, with a grin and a hand clapped on the poor soul's shoulder. And because it was Simon, that might even work. For most people.

But Alan lives by being invisible, Tiburon thought. So long as he's focused on me, he can fight in class. The moment he realizes people are watching him? He chokes. He stumbles. He freezes. If I aim to stick him somewhere vital, he tries to pull out of it and keep fighting. Otherwise - he just takes the hit.

So Aladdin had taken someone who knew he might freeze in the face of danger, and tossed him at a dragon, confident he could save everyone.

He was right. But he might as well have thrown Alan into a buzzsaw. Tiburon winced. And given Fanalis teenage boys are all "mighty hunter, rawr," Alan's just slipped back into "we are not exactly impressed" territory. Which will not help. No wonder he keeps trying to sneak off out of sight, not that a bunch of tiger-nosy Fanalis are going to let anyone do that... I need to talk to Aladdin, later. Right now, definitely change the subject. "Time's an interesting question," the swordsman noted. "I checked with Ja'far; you thought you were in there an hour, almost? Outside, it wasn't even twenty minutes."

"There was a time difference the night we rescued Simon, as well," Malachy observed. "Longer inside than outside. Consistent?"

"It would make picnics much more convenient, if that's true," Shionne mused. "And classes inside the tower, as well."

Tiburon watched out of the corner of his eye as Alan took a relieved breath, and considered his options. We won, the bad guys lost. For Aladdin and Morgan, it's that simple. For Alan - he's acting like some of my students after the first time they had to knife someone. Mental disconnect; from his body, from everyone around him. Damn it, Ja'far; I shouldn't have brought him here, I should have tossed him to you and Simon. You understand, "I just did something horrible-"

And that makes no sense. What did he do that's making him freeze like this?

Whatever it was, he wasn't going to get an answer with two friends Alan felt he had to protect hanging on every word.

Hmm. I did say we needed to go over that block...


"Okay." Tiburon disengaged in a shing of steel. "That is just not going to work until you have a little more muscle. Focus less on blocking, more on deflecting."

Catching his breath, Alan just nodded, and wondered if he should drop in his tracks right here in the salle. "Could've done this in the backyard-"

"What, and mix swords with a MacLea pool party? Not a chance." Tiburon shook his head. "Aladdin's not exhausted. Let him wipe himself out keeping up with a bunch of crazy redheads. Besides, I needed to pick up a few things. Few more weapons, spare phone - I could mangle Ja'far for not warning us about everything that comes with increased magoi. I've killed plenty of phones over the years in my line of work, but today's the first time I broke one with my bare hands." He frowned. "Which explains a lot about Simon's weirder hand-to-hand tricks... Anyway. Better to work on tricky stuff here, where there are less nosy redheads. And I need a little quiet time to think before we all turn in." The swordsman headed to one of the smaller cabinets at the side of the room, a faint scent of wax and honey wafting out as he opened it.

Candles. Alan glanced sideways at the man as Tiburon lit a pale wax taper, and offered him another and matches. "Some kind of meditation?"

"We can't all go ooommmm to the crunch of someone's jaw," Tiburon shrugged. "I love the family, but sometimes they're a little too close. Want to give it a try?"

Given Alan had been trying all afternoon to get behind a locked door with just himself and a lighter... yeah. This could work.

I don't want to do this. I really don't.

But we're going to be heading back in the dungeon, and odds are there will be another dragon. So - start with something small. Something that's not going to blow up in my face.

Something that won't kill people if I get it wrong.

He sat cross-legged, eyeing the tiny flame. Braced himself, and gripped the multitool in his right hand.

Draw the magoi from the flame.

It was oddly harder than the geyser, or the dragon. Those had been do or die - and Alan had a feeling Amon wasn't interested in him dying. So the nudge inside his head had been stronger, obvious; reach for the energy this way. A candleflame? He could almost hear the Djinn snort in disdain.

Alan narrowed his eyes, and tried to poke that presence-not-a-presence right back. Stop being a pompous jerk, damn it. I'm a human being, not somebody with Great Cosmic Powers. I need to start with something I can handle!

Silence.

...Fine. Be that way. You don't want to help? Then just stay quiet and let me try.

Alan breathed in, and tried to grip that same feeling he'd had with the geyser. Heat that didn't hurt, spiraling in-

The candle poofed out.

Okay. Alan sighed, and lit another match to get the candle going again. Take two.

He wasn't sure how long it took him to finally grasp that fragile thread of power without breaking it; like trying to reel in spiderweb. Half the candle was burned down, there was a pile of spent matches by his hand, and he could feel Tiburon's stare.

But it didn't matter, because clumsy and halting as it was, he had that sense now.

That's the flame. That's the pattern to pull on it. And... Alan sat up, watching that silken shimmer of ruby and topaz spin into the Seal. Huh. Not so tired anymore.

Tiburon waited until the glimmer winked out. "So... what is that, exactly?"

"Amon's a Djinn of fire," Alan stated. "According to Aladdin, mostly you fuel a Djinn with your own magoi. But if there's a lot of their element around, you can use that instead. The geyser didn't hurt me 'cause Amon sucked the heat out. And when the dragon breathed on me..."

"Like pouring gasoline on a fire," Tiburon reflected.

"Oh, you have no idea how much," Alan shuddered.

Tiburon nodded, green eyes waiting. "So tell me."

Oh god. I can't, I- Alan scrubbed at his eyes, and tried not to shake. I need help.

"Amon..." Alan had to stop, and try to unclench his fingers from steel. "Amon's not just in here." He raised his hand, and tapped the side of his head. "I think - part of him's in here, too."

Tiburon settled down beside him, eyeing that quiet Seal. "What makes you say that?"

"Because I can feel him. Nudging me. Any time there's fire." Alan stared at the flame. "This - it's tiny, he doesn't pay much attention. It's just me trying to pull on it. The dragon? He - I - that wasn't me."

Tiburon muttered something under his breath that sounded like he suspected Amon's ancestors of consorting with scorpions. "That thing can take you over?"

"Not exactly," Alan admitted. "I could have stopped. But - it made things shift. In my head. One minute I was facing something that wanted to make us crispy fries. Next minute? I was trying not to hurt it." He looked up, hoping somebody could understand how awful this was. "It was still trying to kill us. But I wasn't thinking about that, or Aladdin, or Morgan, or anybody. All I was thinking was- god. It was, blink, dragon. Next blink? Aww, poor big confused burny lizard, maybe it could hurt me if I got careless, let's handle idiot alchemist first and then bop it on the nose."

The swordsman whistled.

"I mean, I still knew it was a dragon, but... it was like being a forest fire," Alan got out, trying to find the right words for that sense of utter confidence. "Everything was just - heat, and power, and safe. I was standing on the damn thing, and I wasn't afraid." He swallowed hard. "I could've gotten everybody killed!"

Tiburon was quiet a long moment. "Are you always afraid in a fight?"

"Oh man yeah," Alan said in a rush. "Always. I hate fighting. I'd rather run. Or talk my way out. Or just not be there, if I know trouble's in the area. Fighting is..." He shook his head. "If you have to fight, you weren't smart enough to stay out of it."

"But you fought to protect Aladdin," Tiburon pointed out. "And you went into the tower after Simon and Ja'far."

"Somebody had to." Alan sighed, and rubbed at a headache. "I have to fight. I know that. Aladdin needs help. All of you need one more person who kind-of sort-of knows how to fight monsters. And I kicked Callimachus and Phaenomena right in the ego, and nobody just lets that walk. I have to fight." He shivered. "But then there's magic and dragons and- you know how when you're dreaming, everything makes sense while it's happening? No matter how crazy it is? This whole week's been like that. Except I feel like I wake up and the dream's still happening. One of these days I'm going to choke up. I always do. And if that gets me hurt, fine, I can live with that - but what if I'd flipped out today? Everybody would have died!"

"Hmm." Tiburon bent his head, thinking-

Reached out, and flicked him in the forehead.

"Ow!" Alan rubbed the stinging spot, startled. So is that a MacLea thing, or did Morgan get it from him? "What was that for?"

"You," Tiburon said dryly, "are not responsible for the whole school and all of your classmates. That's Simon's responsibility. God help us."

"But-"

"We weren't prepared for a dragon to get out of the tower," Tiburon allowed. "We're going to have to fix that. Which is not your responsibility either." He paused. "Though I'd appreciate the help. As your teacher, and as one swordsman floundering out of his depth to another."

Alan blinked. "But... you're..."

"I'm a lot more used to violence," Tiburon said practically. "And to adrenaline. I can tell you right now part of your problem isn't magic. It's that your brain has tight-wired in, battle-rush equals pain." Wiry arms crossed. "Based on what you said about your family... I'm going to guess you got jumped as a kid. A lot."

Alan glanced aside. "It wasn't that bad."

"I don't care if it was. Or wasn't," the swordsman said bluntly. "Learn to forget it. I am going to teach you to fight, and win." He hesitated, and rubbed the back of his neck. "And you weren't the only one who felt things go a little weird today. I don't think any of the rest of us were up to punching out dragons, but after it was gone... well, I have to admit I was pouting. No dragon to fight!" He shrugged, almost sheepish. "Then I looked for a good wall to bang my head against, because what. Seriously."

It's not just me? Alan blinked, feeling some of the adrenaline finally seep out of his nerves. It's not just me. Ouch.

"And Simon..." Tiburon whistled, low and long. "If Callimachus has the sense of self-preservation Mother Nature gave a squirrel, he won't come anywhere near Simon. Because Simon will kill him."

Alan stared, feeling his heart thud in his chest.

"I know Simon," Tiburon stated. "He's one of the good guys. He's not always one of the nice guys, there's a vicious twisty sense of humor under that purple hair - but he's a peaceful guy. Wouldn't hurt a fly, unless that fly stung one of his friends." The swordsman shook his head. "Or he was a peaceful guy. He's not anymore. And I think it's scaring him almost as much as it scares you. Only he's had years improvising when a script goes to hell. And he has Ja'far." Tiburon clasped his hands together, obviously thinking. "I've asked Ja'far to help me get those past memories back."

Erk. "Are you crazy?" Alan blurted out. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because Aladdin knows magic, but he doesn't know us, or our world," Tiburon replied. "Ja'far knows both, but he can't be everywhere at once. It's not fair to load him down with making sure all of us don't kill each other. Or get someone else killed." His voice dropped. "And he's my friend, and he's lonely, and I never knew how much it was killing him. I'm not leaving him alone anymore." A wink, and the serious look morphed into the daredevil swordsman. "Plus, he says that life might know a few tricks about shortswords that I don't. And trust me, a smart martial artist cribs from anyone."

"I dunno," Alan said, half under his breath. Dragging up a life that wasn't the you of now - it still unsettled him. "Wouldn't that be plagiarism?"

"Get outta here..." Tiburon's hand ruffled his hair. "You know, to you and me, today looked crazy. But Ja'far and Aladdin? They were right in the groove. They've seen this before. And they knew they'd come out on top. Maybe I'm not a magician, and I'm still having trouble with yes, okay, dragons - but I've seen that reaction. In martial arts, and backstreet brawls, and-" He hesitated. "Someday, maybe I can give you some details. Let's just say there have been times I was a rookie working with a combat team who'd been under serious fire. There were things that looked crazy, but that was because I didn't know enough to know how it wasn't."

Like Maria and her salt and chili powder, Alan reflected. Sister Thomasina had confiscated the stuff more than once, because good children of the Church didn't do pagan cleansings. Alan had only needed one outbreak of fires in the wastebaskets to slip bottles out of the spice rack and sneak them to her. Some of the little ones just needed negative energy warded off so they could sleep, much less behave like good dutiful churchgoing illegal aliens.

And then he'd seen Maria set off a spark on purpose, because where she'd come from matches cost money, and if you needed fire you really needed fire, and... whoof. He'd never felt the same way about flames after that.

And now I can set off sparks, Alan realized. With Amon, at least, I'm not a magician. And I'm definitely not born to be a paq'o, I'd really rather not get hit by lightning even once-

If Tiburon hadn't been right there, he'd have smacked himself on the forehead.

I am an idiot. Maria has sparks. Maybe lightning, maybe fire, but it's magic!

Which meant he had to get a grip on himself and deal with the situation, Amon and magic and everything. Because this could be help.

Maria and her kids - it's not superstition. It's not devils, or poltergeists, or crazy psychic powers. They have a little bit of magic and no one to teach them.

Which, unfortunately, wasn't going to cut any ice as a reason for a bunch of illegal kids to be seeking asylum.

No, damn it, don't give up that easy. Just because I don't know a way it could work, doesn't mean it couldn't.

But moving too fast could be just as dangerous as not moving at all. Last time he'd checked his email, Maria was okay. So it'd be better to sit tight, wait, and learn. Until he knew enough that he could give Ja'far and Simon a good reason to put their necks on the line with Immigration. Because Maria wouldn't leave the younger kids, and getting a whole small gang of Guatemalans legit status was going to take serious paperwork. And probably bribes, and that didn't even get into arm-twisting.

And if they are magicians - oh, hell. I can't lead Callimachus to them. Got to deal with him, first. "What are we going to do about Callimachus?" Alan held up empty hands before Tiburon could answer. "I know, I know - not my responsibility. But I want to help."

"Ja'far's planning to use the fragments we found to set up some kind of magical tripwires," Tiburon obliged. "And if he can, an early-warning system for the three of you. I think he'll need to rope Aladdin in for heavyweight power, though. And speaking of..." His grin was almost as sharp as Malachy's, and green eyes danced with mischief. "We really should figure the fiery stuff out before it can happen again. Want to help me corral a cagey Magi into telling us just what you did with that dragon?"


"What happened with the dragon?" Still damp from the pool and a shower, Aladdin perched on the air mattress Uncle Malachy had set up in Morgan's room. "That's easy. Well," he backtracked, squeezing a little more water out of his braid, "maybe it's more simple than easy... that was a Full Equip. Really cool. I thought you'd have to start with a partial Equip, but wow, dragonfire..."

Morgan sat on her bed, and didn't quite glare at him. Scent, posture, too-innocent smile; Aladdin was being just a little shifty, and they all knew it. Alan was vibrating with it, fingers twitching toward her computer as if he wanted to grab the Internet and strangle it into giving up some Magi-thumping ideas. Tiburon looked calmer as he leaned against her doorframe, but Morgan could sense exactly how close his hand was to his sword. Even if he only meant to thump Aladdin over the head with the hilt.

"An Equip lets you bring out more of your Djinn's power," Aladdin went on. "Amon's a Djinn of fire, so you can use your Metal Vessel to create fire, and control it. But if you want to do more than that you need an Equip. A partial Equip lets you use Amon's weapon; though you and Sharrkan really hated that sometimes, a big slashing sword doesn't fit your fighting at all. So you had to work something different out. A Full Equip," Aladdin shrugged. "That's when a king channels his Djinn through his magoi, and they act as one."

Morgan sat up straight, chilled. What?

Green eyes narrowed, as Tiburon's usual sense of amused potential violence coiled into rattlesnake-menace. "So." His glance flicked to his student. "You're not crazy."

Pale, Alan could only shake his head.

Aladdin was glancing between them, worried. "That's why Amon has to use something important to you for his Metal Vessel. So both of you can connect to it... what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Alan blurted out. "There's someone else in my head, and you're asking me what's wrong?"

"Yes?" Aladdin said uncertainly. "What's the big deal? A king's never responsible for just himself."

"What's the big deal?" Morgan braced her hands on her covers, ready to spring. A scent like fire, that odd dusting of gold hairs; Alan was different now. And Aladdin hadn't warned him? "People don't have other things in their head!"

Alan's trembling stopped.

"First off," he said, very quietly, "Amon's a person, Morgan, not a thing. He might be a very scary person who isn't human. But he's a person." Alan gave Aladdin a level look. "Second - I get that I was probably doomed from the moment Callimachus broke you out and Amon decided he was going to come to me, instead of stick to a dungeon. You didn't have any say in that. But you should have told me Amon wasn't just in the Seal. And you are going to tell Simon everything you know about it before anyone goes near Baal again." He shook his head. "Our principal's on the weird side as it is. Getting something else stuck in his head? I don't know if that'd be too much."

"But he was fine last time," Aladdin insisted, "and Baal wouldn't-"

"We're not the same people as last time," Tiburon cut him off. "Even Ja'far says he's not. And Simon's our friend. Tell him."

"...I guess I can." Aladdin wrapped his arms around himself. "No one else ever complained about having a Djinn."

"Aladdin, it's not..." Alan sighed, and walked over to put his hands on the magi's shoulders. "I'm not mad at you."

Morgan drew back a hair, startled. He's telling the truth.

"I just - I thought I was going crazy," Alan got out, all in a rush. "And a crazy guy who can throw fire around, just by wanting to? Somebody could get hurt." He looked down into blue eyes, pleading. "You could have been hurt. Or Morgan. Or - god. Half this town."

"Oh," Aladdin said softly. "But you wouldn't. I know you. You were always careful with Amon's fire. Always. Even when we were fighting Black Djinn, and you had to use fire close enough to people it singed their eyebrows off - that's all you did. People got hot, and they got scared. They didn't get burned." He reached up, and gave Alan's hand a friendly squeeze. "But if you want the truth... Um."

Still holding on, Alan gave him a sidelong look.

"It'd - kind of be more than half the town, if you ever really had to do something like that," Aladdin admitted, face a little red. "You don't have the magoi to summon up a whole Extreme Magic - not right now, not without another dragon or maybe a volcano - but when you do... yeah. You could melt the whole peninsula this town is on. If you had to."

Three sets of eyes stared at Aladdin.

He turned a little redder. "You asked?"

"Thanks," Alan said, stunned. "I think."

Aladdin let go. "I didn't think Amon would scare you," he said thoughtfully. "You love fire. I thought you'd be more upset about the earrings."

Alan blinked, and took a startled step back. "Earrings?"

"I mean, besides Uncle Simon, and Malachy in the dungeon, I don't think I've seen any guys wearing earrings here," Aladdin went on. "It's kind of weird."

"What earrings?" Alan persisted.

"I asked around." Morgan gave him a quiet, knowing look. "There are pictures."

Gold eyes went wide. "Pictures?"

Morgan heard familiar footsteps in the hall, and tried not to smirk at Tiburon. "Some men still wear earrings," she informed Aladdin. "Everyone in my family does. Even Uncle Malachy. We just tend to wear tan studs when it's not a party, or a war sweeping through. So idiots don't try to rip them from our ears."

And drat, Aunt Shionne was right that she still had to work on subtle, because Tiburon was eyeing her bedroom window even as he edged toward the door.

Too late.

Malachy loomed in the doorway, giving the swordsman an up-and-down look. "You're planning to do something reckless for Ja'far."

"Damn MacLea ears," Tiburon muttered. "Look, that's my business-"

"It is," Malachy nodded. "But Simon told us it messed Ja'far up, because his family didn't have his back."

"Not going to be a problem." Tiburon shrugged, gaze shadowed. "My family's already not on speaking terms with me-"

"You're wrong," Malachy stated, as Shionne and her sons slipped into view, a small pride of redheaded backup. "Your family's going to be behind you. All the way."

"...Wait," Tiburon said warily. "Wait, wait, wait; Malachy, Shionne, I know you guys like me, I really don't need more proof - Malachy!"

"I'll be back," Morgan tossed over her shoulder to the two stunned boys, falling in behind the rest of her family as her aunt and uncle carried the struggling swordsman off. "This won't take long." I hope.

Uncle Malachy had let go by the time she slipped into the kitchen after everyone, hands up and empty. "If you don't want to be part of the clan, that's your call. MacLeas have long memories for what happens when you force someone into anything."

"But we do like you, Tiburon," Aunt Shionne stepped in. "Edged weapons and all. We'd be proud to have you with us at the next family reunion."

"You mean the next quietly hushed up outbreak of mayhem?" But Tiburon looked a little less ready to run for the door. "Even if you don't plan to file legal paperwork for this... you know the kind of people I train. You don't need their attention."

"We're next door," Malachy said dryly. "We already have their attention. Just like Simon does."

"Which means the dumb ones can't figure us out," Shionne agreed. "The smart ones realize bringing us up to their higher-ups will get them nothing. Leaving us alone means they might have a number to call in the middle of the night, when regular channels can't do anything and people are about to die."

Tiburon ran nervous fingers through his hair. "But you can't be sure."

"Dragon," Dougal pointed out. "Who can be sure of anything, huh? But we are sure about this."

"We miss having an uncle," Ianatan said, more quietly. "Sometimes, you know, you want to talk to family but you don't want to talk to Dad..."

Malachy looked amused. "Teenagers."

"Hey!" his sons protested as one.

Eyes shadowed, Tiburon looked at Morgan. "And what do you think?"

Me? Morgan blinked, suddenly feeling tears. "I know... we live dangerous lives. We can lose people. And we don't want to lose you." She took a deep breath, and gazed at him with pleading kitten eyes. "We need you to be okay."

"Oh." Tiburon leaned a hand on the counter, more shaken than she'd ever seen him. "So... does anybody have ideas for how I explain this to my classes? Because they're going to notice."

Malachy grinned.


Aladdin typed out the number Tiburon had given him on the flat buttons, then listened to the strange little flippy thing everyone called a phone, beeps and a buzzing ring and a sort of click before a familiar, "Hello?"

"Ja'far!" He bounced on the back porch swing, enjoying the faint shimmers of streetlights cast back by the pool. "Isn't this neat?"

"...Aladdin?" Ja'far said uncertainly. "You're on the phone?"

"It's so cool!" Aladdin grinned. "You can talk to anyone and nobody needs to use magoi - it's like the Eye of Rukh! Only I can't see you. Though Alan says there's something called Skype where you can, but that's a lot more complicated to set up-"

"Why are you on the phone?" Ja'far asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," Aladdin shrugged. "Though I am kind of listening to the rukh for sneaky Fanalis, so Alan doesn't worry that someone's going to drag him off to pierce his ears." He craned his head toward the house. "Tiburon yelped a little. Or maybe a lot..."

"They took Tiburon in as an adult? That's- wait, modern Fanalis, I need to ask Malachy before I make any assumptions." Ja'far paused, as if gathering himself to be patient. "But you didn't call about that."

"...I guess not." Aladdin took a deep breath. "Alan says we ought to tell Simon about... well, about what happens in a Full Equip."

Silence.

"Okay, why do people think that's so weird?" Aladdin demanded. "Why would anyone be scared of having a Djinn?"

"You would ask the hard ones." Ja'far sighed. "I should have thought about that- ow, Simon, quit that, I need to take notes!"

"Uncle Sinbad's there?" That was a relief. Kind of. Aladdin still remembered how sneaky and underhanded Sinbad had been. So far Simon wasn't that underhanded... but sneaky, yes. Which meant he wasn't quite sure how he felt about the way Simon wanted Alan as his student. He didn't think it was anything bad, but - he worried. Just a little.

"Make paper airplanes out of the junk mail," Ja'far grumbled, "not my-" Shing. "Yes, I'm serious. This is a real problem, and you can listen, just let me think."

"Aww," Simon sighed in the background.

"One thing comes to mind first," Ja'far said briskly. "Baal's tower is the first this world has seen."

"Okay?" Aladdin said, uncertain. He couldn't read Ja'far's rukh through a phone.

"By the time you turned up near Qishan, Djinn had been loose in the world for fourteen years," Ja'far went on. "I don't know what magi is responsible for Baal, I know it wasn't you, but if I catch him... Aladdin. People back then knew that world-shaking power existed. All the leaders of the Seven Seas Alliance had Djinn. The leaders of Reim. The leaders of the Kou Empire. Balbadd was one of the places that didn't - and you saw what happened to them."

Yeah. He had. It'd been awful.

"Right now, the only people who have seen a Metal Vessel User in Full Equip were at your school," Ja'far stated. "Think of how scared people were of just the dragon." He paused. "Now think of how they might feel once they realize Alan could treat it like a bad puppy."

...Oh.

"Better yet," Ja'far went on, "think how you felt, watching Kouen fight the Medium."

Oh.

Terrified and sick, were the feelings that jumped to mind. Because they needed Kouen, they needed all Astaroth's power to stop Al-Thamen from destroying the world-

But this was the man who'd conquered Balbadd, and tried to conquer Magnostadt, and planned to conquer the entire world to get his way. And maybe he could be talked out of it, just maybe - but if he couldn't then the only one with the power to stop him was Sinbad, and Aladdin had found out later just how much of a mess that was going to be. He was still young, and learning from Ugo hadn't taught him as much about people as he'd thought, but he'd spent a few very frantic years getting a crash course in how people with power worked.

And it wasn't just me. Aladdin tried to catch his breath, feeling like the porch was suddenly too small. Morgan and Uncle Malachy wouldn't like it if he shattered the roof just for some air. Alibaba - everybody ran over Alibaba, or tried to use him, or just smashed their way through his people when he was trying to protect them. If Alan's remembering bits of that...

"Aladdin?"

"He'd never hurt anyone," Aladdin got out. And thumped himself on the forehead, below his jewel. "That makes it worse, doesn't it?"

"The situation isn't quite as bad as it might be," Ja'far reflected. "First - this is Simon's school. Everyone expects special effects. A teenager able to command fire with a blazing sword? No one's going to believe that without a lot of evidence. Second... Alan should have history books. Read them. People in this country tend to be in favor of leaving each other alone so long as nothing gets blown up." His voice caught. "But bringing back magoi into this world, bringing back enough to fuel Djinn - if anyone had asked me, I would have said it was a bad idea. I know the people who've been touched by it so far; I know how much they care about those they love. Or even innocent bystanders. Which makes it worse. Sooner or later we'll be caught using magic. And then? Unless we're very, very lucky, we'll end up like a kinder version of Magnostadt: we might not condemn those who don't use magoi, but we might have to either flee or throw them out in pure self-defense. And this isn't like the old world, where Sinbad could sail off to uncharted islands and found a whole new nation. There's nowhere else to go."

There was a lump in Aladdin's throat. "I'm-"

"Ja'far," Simon's voice broke in, "if he says he's sorry, zap him through the phone for me."

Ja'far groaned. "I don't have a spell that will do that."

"Yet," Simon said cheerfully.

"...You are far too optimistic."

"I'm told it's part of my charm," Simon mused. "That, or bound to drag me into the ninth circle of Hell. Hard to say." He hmphed. "What my sharp and pointy friend here isn't saying is that if anyone's likely to slip, it's him."

"Simon, I-"

"You may have been an assassin in that world, but you're a Life Mage in this one," Simon cut off his protest. "If someone were dying in front of you, you would do something. And I'd help." Fingers tapped on something harder than wood. "Aladdin. This is a serious situation, and we should all be worried. But if we act as if we expect the worst from the people around us, we'll get it. I think..."

Almost holding his breath, Aladdin waited.

"I think we need to brazen it out, whatever happens," Simon said at last. "In the meantime, we need to act as though everything we do is normal. Including breaking rocks with our bare toes, levitating without wires, and setting the sky on fire. If we build up a reputation as, that's Hancock High, everyone's weird there - then no one will notice when we do something truly bizarre."

"Like the Maharagan." Aladdin leaned back in the swing, relieved. "Don't make the monsters scary. Make them part of a party."

"Something like that?" Simon cleared his throat. "Ja'far. I didn't just agree to something likely to get my students killed, did I?"

"No more than usual." There was the faintest of smiles in Ja'far's voice. "We won't have a proper Maharagan unless the Gulf starts sprouting sea monsters-"

"Sea monsters?" Simon pounced.

"-But the idea is similar," Ja'far went on; with a quiet thump, as if he'd just planted a hand against someone's face to pry them off. "Make magic a marvel, not a thing to fear."

"Because it is!" Aladdin insisted. "If I could just..."

"What is it?" Ja'far asked.

Aladdin kicked bare toes against the porch, shooing off hungry mosquitoes. "I just thought... that'll help keep other people from getting scared of us. But Alan's scared of Amon-" No. No, that didn't seem right. "I think Alan's scared of himself. And nothing I try seems to help. I told him we trust him, I told him I know he'd never hurt people with fire, he never did-"

"Ah."

Huh?

For a moment he heard Ja'far breathing. "Simon?" The ex-assassin said quietly. "I need you to leave for a few minutes."

"If one of my students is in trouble-"

"Three of them might be, but it's not something you can fix over the phone," Ja'far said firmly. "And we can't fix it without some time to think. I'll explain after I've chewed out a magi."

For a moment, Simon was quiet. "You're still a teenager, Aladdin, and I meant it when I said I was taking you in as my cousin," the principal said firmly. "Ja'far? Don't be cruel."

"He's a teenager, but he's been looking after himself for years, and that has responsibilities as well as rights," Ja'far answered. "I don't want to hurt him. I just want to be sure we get to the heart of this, so it doesn't bite us later."

"...I trust you."

Somewhere on the other side of the phone, Aladdin heard a door shut.

"Now."

Uh-oh. Aladdin could almost hear the knives unsheathed.

"Based on what I've seen, and what I remember, you're probably right; most of the problem isn't Amon's fire," Ja'far said clinically. "Or even Equipping. At least, not directly."

Aladdin frowned. "Not directly?"

"I had reasons to study how memory works," Ja'far informed him. "Physical actions, anything that carries you in a motion like an emotionally charged situation, creates a powerful association with memories. It can drag up things you thought dead and buried a lifetime ago. From what I recall of Sinbad learning to use his Djinn, that form is physically you while you're Equipped. I'd be more surprised if Alan wasn't confused right now." There was a tiny shrrrip, like razor-sharp metal poking paper. "But the fear... I suspect that's not Amon directly, but the fact that Amon's effects overlap with whatever you did to wake some of Alibaba's memories." A pause. "Did you ask Alan before you did that?"

That wasn't fair. "They promised to wait for me."

"I know."

Oh, ouch. Aladdin could hear that shadow of hurt in Ja'far's voice. And maybe he'd never dealt with the former assassin much in Sindria, not nearly as much as Alibaba had, trying to learn how not to get assassinated, but he'd listened to enough problems in the palace to know how much Sinbad relied on Ja'far. "Why - why do you remember when Simon doesn't?"

"That's a long story," Ja'far said quietly. "I do want to talk to you about it." He hesitated. "Well. Part of it. Do you remember how injured Sinbad was, after you dealt with David?"

Ow. He remembered that too well. "It really hurt him," Aladdin winced. "Like he was bleeding inside his soul. If Alibaba hadn't been there with me, if all of you hadn't done everything you could to help..."

"We would have lost him," Ja'far said quietly. "Aladdin, if you've woken any of Alibaba's memories - terror leaves a mark. And we were all terrified."

It didn't make sense. "But that was David! Amon wouldn't-"

"Amon is an intruder in Alan's mind." Steel slashed air. "Fear is meant to save your life. If Amon were anything like David, Alan would be right to be terrified." Ja'far's voice softened. "You and I both know Amon is not like that. That he would rather be destroyed than become anything like that. That he and all Solomon's Household put their very existence on the line to stop David once - and then again, to save Sinbad." He took a long breath. "You and I know that. Alan doesn't. Not yet."

"You think that's why the Equip scared him? Because a king has to act with his Djinn, and..." Aladdin had to stop there, thinking of how hard Alibaba had worked to gain Amon's power for them all. He'd known other dungeon capturers, seen that power flow free for the asking, king and Djinn bound as one...

Alan didn't know any of that. Only that he'd been given power he'd never looked for; the kind of power that would make other people treat him differently, forever.

Like me.

He hadn't asked to be a magi. He'd never wanted the power to change the world. All he'd wanted was a friend.

I have a friend. I just need to let him figure that out.

"Aladdin?"

"You're right," Aladdin said thoughtfully. "I grew up with Djinn. He didn't. I think... I should tell him some stories. About Ugo, and Amon... and maybe Paimon too, she was kind of nice."

"Go lightly on Paimon," Ja'far advised. "And I wouldn't mention any of the other Djinn of the Empire; not now. Wait until he's had time to be sure Amon is his ally." He sighed, relieved. "Though there's another problem that affects all of us, not just Alan. If the dungeons are going to bring memories back - you ought to understand the neurology involved when the awakened rukh tangles up with magoi. Nerves run on life energy, after all-"

"Wait," Aladdin said fast, head hurting. "Neuro-what? And it's tangled up with magoi? Like... like Hakuryuu using ki techniques, and his hands would shake after..."

"A lot like that." The shrrripping stopped. "Why don't you stop by my office tomorrow, after school?"

Aladdin bit his lip. "But Alan's hurt now."

"Hurt, but he'll live," Ja'far stated. "Move too fast when the brain's involved, and you can do a lot more damage. Tomorrow you can look at my reference books, ask me questions; I do have some training in this. Even," the barest breath of hesitation, "pick my brain with Solomon's Wisdom. If you want."

Ja'far likes his secrets, Aladdin remembered. He's serious about this.

"I wanted to ask you about something related to this, anyway," Ja'far went on. "It's not about the dungeons, exactly-"

Aladdin frowned, putting pieces together. "Malachy said Tiburon was going to do something reckless for you."

"I'm going to try to make it not reckless," Ja'far growled. "But I don't know enough. Half the things I do with Life Magic I taught myself, and... the way I know how to do this spell so it works, can hurt people. I want to know if there's another way."

Aladdin chuckled.

"What?"

"Uncle Sinbad's right," Aladdin decided. "Or... I guess Uncle Simon's right, about this."

"What?"

"I wish you could meet Sphintus now," Aladdin said softly. "His family were assassins, too. Life Mages the Heliohapt kings made curse their enemies with diseases. Sphintus hated that. That's why he went to Magnostadt. I bet you'd have a lot to talk about." He smiled. "Thanks, Ja'far. I feel a lot better now. About everything."

Maybe Simon's the way Uncle Sinbad should have been, if Al-Thamen hadn't messed with him. Maybe we can keep him just shifty and crazy and awesome, and not using people.

Maybe I can let Alan be his student, and not worry so much.

Maybe.


Simon knocked on the doorframe, then walked in at Ja'far's grumbled arrrrgh. "Bad?"

"Gnmph." Ja'far glared at the innocent landline phone lurking on Simon's office desk, looking like he'd like to prick it as full of as many holes as he'd left in the top of his notes.

Simon nodded. "So how badly did Aladdin screw up?"

Ja'far muttered some very ancient bad words, and absently checked the knives in his sleeves. "One being dropping a tissue on the floor, and ten being someone dead?" He shifted his shoulders, settling his dress shirt as if he couldn't quite stand the fit. "About a seven. If he doesn't realize there are times even a magi should sit on his hands, he stands the chance of sparking a rift worse than the one between Yunan and... never mind. Not important right now." Ja'far clasped his hands together, gray eyes half-closed.

Ah, the summing-up pose, Simon nodded. Here we go...

"Learning to Equip a Djinn involves a certain amount of guesswork and sheer stubbornness," Ja'far stated. "A Metal Vessel User has to... focus the energy of their Djinn. To link up with it. Different Djinn hold mastery of different elements, and each Djinn has their own personality. I learned about Amon secondhand from Sharrkan when he trained Alibaba, but I distinctly remember hearing that Amon did not Equip the same way Baal did. Baal is," the magician hesitated, grasping for words, "like lightning sheeting over you. If the stroke went through you, it'd stop your heart."

Simon winced, graphic images of actors made up to portray lightning-struck horror victims and a few pictures of actual lightning victims coming to mind. The Gulf Coast had lightning the way Los Angeles had wildfires.

Amon is fire, Simon realized. "You said Alan singed his soul."

"Amon has to be focused through his king," Ja'far said soberly. "Alan pulled it off; I can only imagine how much magoi dragonfire carries. He will recover. But between that, and the fact that using Amon's magoi had to resonate directly with the part of the rukh that carries Alibaba's memories... Aladdin says Alan's scared of himself."

Simon opened his mouth to speak - and thought better of it, doing a little editing first. Ja'far hardly needed a refresher on vulgar language. "You mean if the Alibaba memories were down at the bottom of a pool, Alan just stirred some up the hard way." Like your clan did with you.

Ja'far grimaced. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

Simon rocked back on his heels. "Are you telling me it gets worse?"

"...Yes," his friend sighed. "Yes, it does." A silent snarl; then gray focused back on him. "Something I didn't appreciate at the time is the fact that a Djinn and his chosen king are linked. Until the king dies. A king can't use his Djinn's power without a Vessel, but the Djinn isn't confined to the Vessel. The Vessel is the focus. But if it's broken, a Djinn can transfer that focus to a new one."

But if the Djinn isn't in the Vessel, then how-?

Oh.

Simon brushed at his hair, hoping it wasn't all standing on end. "You mean Amon - someone who is incredibly powerful, incredibly ancient, and not human..."

"Is inside Alan's rukh," Ja'far said bluntly. "Yes. Making himself at home. Making sure his king can support him without dying. Taking whatever steps he feels necessary to protect the lord of all the Djinn, Aladdin."

Definitely not good. "It changes your personality?" Because if it did, Simon was going to give serious consideration to walling up the deeper of Baal's tunnels. Maybe they could get a concrete truck through the gate?

"What? No, I-" Ja'far pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not saying this accurately. English doesn't have the same words for magoi manipulation... A link to a Djinn alters your energy flow. And since nerves work on energy, that can make you doubt yourself until you adjust to it. Unless you're an overconfident idiot to start with. A lot of kings were back then."

Simon was pretty sure there was a subtle jab in there somewhere. Or possibly not so subtle. "So Amon is stirring up old memories because Alibaba remembers a Djinn's power." And leave aside the whole Djinn inside your rukh mess, though he planned to pin Ja'far down for details later. "I'm having a hard time coming up with how Aladdin could have possibly made things worse. Besides being a lonely fourteen-year-old boy who desperately misses his best friends."

"A fourteen-year-old Magi." Ja'far shifted his shoulders again, disgruntled at innocent cotton. "Think less magician and more potential Reality Warper. And he wants Alan to remember."

Something wrong with his shirt? Simon thought. Need to check that; he may hate spending money on clothes, but I'll drag him into the Home Ec/Costuming classes if I have to. He depends on being able to move. "We could try separating them? I know I'm not the best housekeeper, but I can take Aladdin in-" His brain put together reality warper and lonely, and Simon winced. "That'd just make things worse, wouldn't it? If he doesn't see Alan, he'd want even more to have Alibaba back."

"On top of that, you'd be fighting a very protective fifteen-year-old who's decided he's responsible for Aladdin and Morgan," Ja'far pointed out clinically. "Do I need to remind you about Alibaba, kidnapping, and airports? Also, Aladdin doesn't trust you with Alan as far as he can throw you. Without using magic. That would end badly."

"He doesn't trust me?" Simon frowned. "Why?"

Gray eyes slid away. "It's nothing you did."

Then what did you- Wait, Simon cautioned himself. That was a distraction, and I almost fell for it. "You mean, it's nothing I did now. He knew me before, didn't he? Ja'far, I know you don't like to talk about my past, but what on earth did I do to him?" He flicked back a bit of violet hair. "And where on earth did he get time to watch my movies? 'Uncle Sinbad,' indeed..."

One blink, and he would have missed it. But for a moment, Ja'far smiled.

Womanizer of the Seven Seas. Baal's former King.

Uncle Sinbad.

"...I think I'm going to sit down," Simon got out, and grabbed blindly for his office chair. Only Ja'far was in the way-

And then not, as the magician slipped aside and got Simon's hand to latch onto the chair arm, mischief glimmering in gray eyes. "Oh, I've been waiting for this."

"You," Simon breathed, leaning hard on polished wood. As if it could stand between him and an abyss of centuries' worth of utter, bewildered amazement. "You said I was the Sindrian ambassador."

"You were a Sindrian ambassador," Ja'far corrected him, entirely too innocent. "Royalty was a lot more hands-on back then. You went on diplomatic missions for the King of Sindria. They didn't always go well."

"A merchant adventurer."

"The Sindria Trading Company existed for years before we went all in and you carved out your own kingdom," Ja'far replied. "So, yes."

"I met the Generals when they had to get me out of trouble."

"I joined your little crusade to change the world in Vaalefor's dungeon," Ja'far said, far too cheerfully. "I'd been on assignment from the Partevian government. You were the assignment. You talked me out of it. Masrur - Malachy - tried to kill you at his master's orders in a gladiator's arena. Sharrkan... I'll save that story for later. Let's just say he ended up an exiled prince of Heliohapt and he didn't regret it at all. Every time you were up to your neck in trouble that should have killed you, but you managed to get us all out of it. With help." He paused, eyes dark. "You pulled me out of a Dark Djinn. Twice. In a very real sense, I owe you my soul."

Frightening thought. And too dark for a night like this. "You said another empire's ambassador found me in her bed and challenged me to a duel-"

"Princess Kougyoku. That was sticky," Ja'far smirked. "She showed up on Sindria's docks ready to kill you, kill herself, or marry you. I'm not sure which was scarier. Lucky for all of us Yamraiha was able to prove someone had snuck her into your bed while you were asleep, and you didn't know a thing about it."

"Damn," Simon said regretfully. "Was she pretty- wait. Kougyoku? The princess with her own Djinn?"

"One of the princesses who'd won one, yes," Ja'far nodded. "Ren Kougyoku, eighth princess of the Kou Empire."

So he'd been accused of besmirching the honor of a princess of the same empire that had invaded Alibaba's kingdom... oh hell. "Was that before or after we kidnapped Alibaba?" Please say before, please say before-

"After," Ja'far said, very dryly.

Meaning he'd managed to let himself be put in a position where the Kou Empire had a real and plausible case for going to war with Sindria, after he'd taken in politically important refugees already fleeing said empire. Argh. "Ja'far, if I'm ever that blithely overconfident again, hit me."

"As you wish, my king."

Simon shook his head, shaken to the core. He knew those words, the formal response to a king's command. Knew them to the bone.

And all this time you let me think we were both subordinates dealing with the same crazy boss. "You have a terrible sense of humor."

Ja'far pressed a fist to pale lips, snickers sneaking out past it. "The look on your face!"

"You-" Simon had to stop, and catch his breath. "You're not joking, are you?"

"No." Gray eyes were still bright, but a little more sober. "I wouldn't joke about this, Simon. Not ever."

Sinbad, lord of Sindria. King of the Seven Seas. Simon cupped his face in his hands, feeling as if there weren't enough air in the room. "How... how much of the stories are true...?"

"More than you'd imagine, and less than you fear." Ja'far's hand settled on his shoulder, working at some of the tension there. "You heard what I told Tiburon about Al-Thamen. We were in a desperate situation, and we did desperate things. Some of them things you don't want to remember. Some things I don't want to remember. But you did your best to save the world from utter destruction, and you tried to keep Sindria a place where anyone who was there, was there of their own free will. Of course you wanted those three on your side! A Magi, a Metal Vessel User whose kingdom had been conquered by your enemies, one of the last young Fanalis of that generation? You wanted them as allies, and you were not ashamed at trying a few less than ethical tricks to keep them. So Aladdin doesn't trust you. Yet." Fingers gripped, firm and warm. "But that's not fair. You're not the same person as the one who did those things. You've had different choices, and you took them. You're an actor. A teacher. Not a politician. Anyone who follows you, is here because we want to be here." Light as a butterfly's footsteps, Ja'far's chin brushed the top of his head. "And you're still my friend."

For a moment Simon saw the swarm of rukh around them; like a cloud of moonlight hummingbirds, touched with a feather-brush of dawn.

This is important. What we do here, changes everything.

He'd known Ja'far trusted him. How deep that friendship ran... sometimes Simon tried not to think about it. Because damn it, he might not admit it to Tiburon or Ja'far or even the mirror - but it was like being dumped into the middle of the ocean over the Marianas Trench. Sure, he could swim. But that was a hell of a lot of water down there, and if any place in the world still harbored sea monsters...

Heroes are the ones who fight the monsters.

Simon leaned back, searching out gray eyes. "Whoever I was... you knew all along. And if the stories are true, you fought at my side. You trusted me with your life. You must miss that." He took a steadying breath. "But you've never asked me to remember. When you know you could do it. That must be hard."

"Yes," Ja'far admitted. "And no. Simon, it's not- damn it, I like you. I've gotten to know you all over again, when we weren't desperately trying to stave off the end of the world. And there was a lot of pain back there, especially for you, and there is no way - no way - I would inflict that on my best friend unless the world was coming to an end. Again." He shrugged, a little sheepish. "Tiburon would be different. Sharrkan was a General, not a king."

Now there was a name from the stories to make the hairs on Simon's neck stand up. Even as the acquisitive director in his soul wanted to rub its hands and cackle. "You're going to bring Sharrkan back?"

"I... Tiburon asked me to bring Sharrkan's memories back for him," Ja'far corrected him. "I said I'd think about it. I'm not sure it's a good idea. Even if I can modify the spell so it's not so - intense."

"Hmm." Simon folded his hands together, thinking hard. That was an honest plea, and Ja'far didn't ask for help often. "Not a good idea because of what it might do to Tiburon? Or not a good idea because you desperately need help to keep us out of lethal trouble and you want to see him so badly it makes you ache to stab someone?"

"Yes."

No teasing the ex-assassin, Simon reminded himself. Not about this. "Well, he's right that you need more help," he said soberly. "I never considered that one of the monsters could get out of the dungeon after us. Much less what safeguards we should set up for when - when, not if - one does. Forget what Callimachus tried; if it hadn't been for Alan and Aladdin, I'd have lost a lot of students today. And I... I'm not sure I could ever have forgiven myself for being so monumentally stupid."

Ja'far lowered his gaze. "You didn't know."

"Exactly. I didn't know." Simon ducked his head to catch gray eyes again. "And you can't think of everything. We need help. Tiburon's volunteering. And he's not an unlucky thirteen-year-old about to be swamped by an ancient assassin."

"No," Ja'far admitted reluctantly. "No, he's... I haven't tried to get at the classified parts of his life. But it's possible Tiburon has as much lethal experience as Sharrkan did."

"So," Simon nodded. "I don't know if it's a good idea. But I don't think it's a bad one." He hesitated. "What was Sharrkan like?"

"Before or after you corrupted him into some of your bad habits?"

Simon might have been tempted to take offense, if he hadn't seen that sly gleam of humor in Ja'far's gaze. "Any particular bad habits I should worry about?"

"Lazing in bed, carousing in taverns with pretty girls, and latent Blood Knight tendencies whenever he got to fight for real?" Ja'far's smile was faintly sad. "If you set a good example, Principal Cavins, I think we can avoid most of those."

"The man wants me to be responsible," Simon lamented. Heaved a mock sigh, and pressed his hands to his heart in the best soap opera fashion. "I am doomed."

That won him the snicker he'd been hoping for. Good.

"If Tiburon's willing to risk it, I think you should consider casting the spell," Simon went on, more seriously. "It is his life, and his choice. But I also think you should talk to Aladdin. For two reasons." He held up one finger. "If he can get English through the rukh without getting tangled in someone else's memories, maybe he can help fix the Magnos spell so that doesn't tangle as badly." A second. "Aladdin loves magic. If you honestly need his help to fix a spell, he will be busy with something he understands. Instead of spending all his time flailing around trying to adapt to our world. That should give Alan some time to breathe. I know," he added, before Ja'far could frown at him, "it's not a permanent fix. What we need is for Aladdin to work with Alan, in a project that uses Alan's strengths."

"Alan's, and not Alibaba's," Ja'far murmured. "So... not swords, and not magic."

"Right." Simon stole a piece of paper to take notes of his own; if Richard was as clueless about Alan as Alan had been about him, asking Alan's father would be less than no help. Simon only hoped Tanya wouldn't mind too much when he called her tomorrow. "So what does Alan do when he's not saving teenage magi?"


A/N: Okay, when it comes to the Proto-Indo-Europeans, devas, Tarim mummies, etc., I am mangling world history. Deliberately.

That said, the Pamir Mountains are where one group of Indo-Europeans is theorized to have come from before they crossed into the Tarim Basin, and Karakul really is a brackish "lake" formed by an impact crater. Which is just cool.

paq'o - K'iche' (Quechua): Healer, shaman in the Andean tradition who treats soul illness. Source I found said there were three levels, and yes, two of them are people who have been struck by lightning.