"Okay," Alan muttered under his breath as he typed at Morgan's computer. "I think the only possible title for this entry is Gone Horribly Right..."

'Higher education has unsuspected depths of craziness,' Alan tapped out. 'Those of you following this humble posting may recall I mentioned a crocodile? Right. A crocodile would have been easily dealt with, compared to today.'

Morgan leaned over his shoulder, peering at the words. "You write very formally."

"I keep in practice for articles," Alan shrugged. "Haven't had time to pull one together lately."

'Now I know why the principal was strangely prepared,' he typed on. 'Although note, even the best laid plans for creatures of a scaly and ferocious nature can fail when critter-events are compounded by active arson and potential mass hallucinatory events. Or in other words? Murphy was an optimist.'

"Murphy wasn't always right." Morgan's hand touched his shoulder. "Though Callimachus might think he was. He didn't plan for a fiery sword."

"He will next time," Alan muttered, staring at the screen. What should he mention about an alchemist, or even about fire? If anything? Maria would be reading this, he knew it; and while he wanted to toss her the awesome news of there are people who understand magic-

Sister Thomasina would also be reading it. Meaning he had to be careful how he phrased anything related to magic. Tricky.

'On the bright side,' Alan observed, 'if there's a zombie apocalypse, this place is going to pick its teeth with the zeds.'

Morgan laughed.

Oh, do that again. Alan lifted his hands off the keyboard a moment. "...You know, that actually makes me feel better," he said thoughtfully. "Zombie apocalypse, anything goes."

"So you'd have an excuse." Roan eyes raked him. "You're used to holding back. All the time. Why?"

You can punch holes in cliffs, and you think I'm holding back? Alan almost said. But damn it, that'd be lying.

"Words can hurt people," he said instead. "Even if they're true. Especially if they are."

Morgan nodded, eyes steady as a tiger's. "Tell me."

"I'm not the kind of guy you think I am." Alan had to look away. "Definitely not the guy Aladdin thinks I am."

Gripping the back of his chair with deceptively slender hands, Morgan waited.

"Technically, I lived in a small town," Alan started. "It was smaller when I was little. Two churches, one general store, and anybody who wanted to get drunk had to get out of town. Not that far out, Boston has a long reach, and it wasn't that hard for people to find guys selling what they wanted to buy." And some of them thought - no. Enough. "Ever think about why you don't sit up against the south windows in the caf?"

She frowned. "We've only been at Hancock a week."

Hah. Dodging the question. "You never sit in the south, because that's where the football team mugs for girls in the shiniest sunlight," Alan stated. "They have a bunch of the other athletes, but those are the football tables. They leave your cousins alone, your cousins leave them alone, and you can almost draw a line right down the middle of the cafeteria. The senior Queen Bee Beatrice Hummer has her table staked out two tables away; close enough to throw the boys little smiles, far enough that they have to stand up and make it obvious if they're trying to get anything more. The computer nerds and the techies get a lot better vibe than the last place I was, guess being in charge of the programs that make people look good helps - but they still don't stray more than a few tables from the door." He paused. "And if you wanted to start fights in the halls for weeks, all you'd have to do is accidentally drop a folded note behind Beatrice's table that had one of the second-string players confessing his undying lust for anybody from the tech side. If you really wanted to make it ugly, you'd work in a mention of, 'I don't care what anybody says about Michaela, you're the one for me'. Because she's pretty, if guys would look past the glasses, and Bio isn't quite as geeky as tech, which would make the ripple swirl out farther and nastier." Alan took a deep breath. "And that's what I know now. When I was nine? I could see things almost as well, and I had no good judgment whatsoever."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

"Oh, me?" Alan shrugged. "I started a gang war."

She stared, fingers going limp with shock.

"My mom finally got it through my head I didn't cause the whole thing," Alan said, dragging the words out. He hated it. All of it. And somehow, he hated that it wasn't all his fault more. How could people want to do things like that to each other? "Gangs were moving out from Boston to find more territory to sell drugs in; it was only a matter of time before a couple of them had a fatal argument. But even though Mom and I stayed out of the really bad parts of the city, sometimes, chasing stories, we crossed paths with... not so good guys. And one of them made a crack about my Mom. And-" He spread empty hands. "I told him what I knew about him, and the pair of girlfriends he had who didn't know about each other, and the boyfriends one of them had that he didn't know about, who were passing info to two of the other gangs, and... boom." He took a breath. "The cops were picking up the pieces for weeks."

Morgan's breath huffed out, as if she'd been punched in the gut.

Yeah. Well, I did, didn't I. "Worst part was afterward," Alan admitted. "One of the cops Mom had as a source stopped by, patted me on the head and said what a great day it was looking like out there, all the bad guys shooting each other..." He grimaced. "She gave him what-for, believe me. But... damn it. Sometimes there are real bad guys out there. I know that. Sometimes somebody has to get shot. But acting like that's ever a good thing - no. I can't, damn it. People are worth saving. Somebody should try."

"Yes," Morgan said softly. "Someone should."

"So. I try not to... do things like that again," Alan shrugged. "I learned to not get seen. Not get caught, even by the guys like Pablo's gang - street kids, they'll rob you blind, but they stay away from drugs, so if you have to run through somebody's turf theirs is safer." Tell her about Pablo, not Maria and the ak'al-ab. Less complicated. And a lot less likely to get innocent bystanders in trouble. Even if it means I might have to explain the whole stuffed unicorn kidnapping and storm drain rescue. "At least, it is if you're not getting followed by the cops. They've still got me and Mom down as CIs in the station, did you know that? It got so I knew when the next graduating class got hired, 'cause I'd look up from the salvage bins and guess who was trying to look inconspicuous as they drove by..." He had to laugh, just a little. "But I guess I can't blame them, either. They've got jobs to do, and it's a heck of a temptation to just pick up the guy who knows everybody and give him a good shake until a suspect's name falls out."

Morgan was blinking at him. "So when you said you were supposed to stay out of police custody... it wasn't because you did anything wrong."

"Define wrong," Alan said quietly. "See kids eating a bag of chips right out of the nearest store that sells food, when you know they couldn't scrape together a nickel between them, and say nothing? Run into a lady you know is a hooker, and tell her to just head inside, because the cops are heading this way and she's got two kids? Break into a place that's breaking the rules, before the wrong chemicals mix and something goes boom? I'm not exactly a good citizen-"

Lifting her hands off the chair, Morgan reached around and hugged him.

Huh?

"I thought someone hurt you." Morgan hung onto him, relieved. This, she knew how to deal with. "I didn't know you were scared of hurting other people. You must have been angry."

"I was a stupid kid."

Morgan leaned her head against his, scenting that old hurt. "Being angry isn't stupid. It can make you do stupid things, but just being angry isn't wrong. I was angry for a long time." She breathed out, glad to be holding onto someone else alive. "Sometimes I'm still angry."

Alan turned in the chair, so the hug wasn't quite so awkward. "What happened?"

"Mom was National Guard," Morgan said quietly. Facts. The facts didn't hurt like the memories, red hair like her own and the scent of her hug and then gone. "She got called up. She... Fanalis have good noses." That wouldn't be enough, it was never enough-

"They didn't know how she was finding the bombs, they just knew she was." Alan hugged her closer.

Morgan started. "How did you-?"

"...Lucky guess?"

She pulled back enough to stare at him.

Alan slumped a little. "Research and statistics. And meeting your family. Female, National Guard, good at hand-to-hand and restraining people without hurting them - she wouldn't be on the front lines. Officially. She'd be searching women. Or at least people dressed like women. And if she was good at it, and all of you are really good at scary things, and word got out... even a Fanalis can't dodge enough snipers." He bent his head. "I'm sorry." His hand found hers. "And then what?"

Morgan wet her lips. "How-?"

"I've got eyes and I've met your family," Alan said gently. "Your dad would be here if he could. So - he can't."

"He could have been," Morgan whispered. It hurt, but she was done crying. She was. "He... he loved her too much. He just - left-"

Alan tugged her closer, so she could rest her head on his shoulder and just stay there a while. "That sucks."

"Uncle's still mad at him," Morgan got out. "I don't think he knows I know, but - once a year he goes out to yell at the family marker. And... I don't think he's wrong. I used to. I used to be so angry, I..." She looked down at clenched fists. "I hurt people, too."

"Hospital?" Alan said. Matter of fact. Neutral. As if...

He's not angry at me. "Yes."

"Better than the morgue." Alan sighed. "Sorry. I've been a scared jerk, huh?"

"Fire is dangerous. Words are dangerous." Morgan breathed in, and out, releasing the tension the way Malachy and Shionne had gone over and over with her. Being angry was okay. Letting anger act for you - that was not. Ever. "If you weren't worried, I wouldn't like you."

"Oh."

Fingers on her hair, stroking slow and careful. That was nice.

"...Do you want to help me put the rest of this piece together?"

Morgan blinked open half-closed eyes.

Alan was just a little pink, and very close. "I'd... kind of like to get something in about the dragon, and fire magic, and warning people about Fomoire chains in case they've never seen anything like it and they get caught. But I'm used to writing articles. Not stuff that has to be subtle about magic." He glanced at the clock. "And your family's going to stuff us into bed soon... into beds soon. Everyone's. Separate. Bed. Is what I meant, and-"

She raised an eyebrow, and hoped it looked half as intimidating as Uncle Malachy's. It might not be a horde of electrical moles, but it was partnership. "You want me to help you fight the evil words so you can get your post up?"

"Yes?" His hand scrabbled for the mouse. "What do you want for a username?"

"Bed," Malachy said firmly, gripping a son by each shoulder to politely urge them away from their cousin's bedroom door.

"But, Dad," Dougal protested, dragging his heels.

"Just one little tripwire," Ianatan pleaded. "We'll even leave off the razor wire. But that's our baby cousin in there with two guys-!"

"Two guys she can break in half." Malachy kept his voice down. "You can listen and smell just as well as I can. The boys are on the mattress and all they're doing is sleeping."

"...That's just unnatural," Dougal grumbled. "They're guys."

"I have to get you both in on the dungeon trips," Malachy observed, marching on. "Teaching is obviously not wearing you two out enough."

Ianatan almost looked innocent. "You can wear a guy out enough he's not thinking of cute girls?"

"Um, Ian," Dougal got out.

Malachy smiled at them.

"Going to bed now yessir," Dougal said all in a rush.

Ianatan nodded, wide-eyed, and scampered after him.

Behind him, Shionne stifled a laugh. "Nicely done."

Turning toward his wife, Malachy deliberately buffed his nails on his shirt, and blew them off.

That earned him a wide grin, with nothing demure about it. Shionne took a step toward their bedroom, and blinked up at him.

Well. What kind of husband would he be, to pass up an invitation like that?

Later, he stroked Shionne's hair as she curled against him. "Know how I finally met Simon's friend Ja'far?"

"The elusive vice-principal?" She chuckled into his shoulder. "If I didn't have his signatures on some of the paperwork I'd doubt he even existed. What's he like?"

"We should have him over sometime." Malachy frowned a little, thinking it over. "With Simon. So no one gets nervous."

"Oh?"

"Lethally trained," Malachy informed her. "Life magician."

"...Oh." Shionne glanced toward Morgan's bedroom. "Will he be teaching Aladdin?"

"Think they'll be teaching each other," Malachy mused. "Hoping I can set him on our boys, too. They could use shaking up a little."

Delicate red brows arched. "He's that good?"

Malachy nodded.

"And you want to invite him over." His wife smiled, reading his intent.

"I like to pick up shiny things the world has missed," Malachy acknowledged. "Except Ja'far should be in Simon's clan. If he had one."

"Well, that's simple."

Malachy lifted a curious brow.

"I like to pick up what the world's overlooked, too," Shionne observed. "Especially when the shiny in question makes himself look so obviously part of the flash and glamour, no one notices how truly outside the crowd he is. That's a rare skill." Her eyes went distant, likely calculating exactly how strong the ropes would have to be. "And one we should definitely try to grab."

Hands. Death-gray hands like a nest of undead serpents, all striking fast as bullets. He moved; he flew, wrapped in flames, but the hands arced after him like gravity was a bad joke, and where they touched-

Acid. Pain. Fading.

Falling. Skin and flesh burned nearly to the bone, in a way that had nothing to do with fire. Fire would have helped, would have healed; that gray touch extinguished life itself...

Fire like wings. Arms, catching him, stronger than steel.

No! Morgiana, get away! It's not dead, how can it be dead; it's only waiting until we all lose too much magoi to fight, and then-!

Gray hands, snaring deep in red hair. Turning it to crackling black ash-

"Alan!" A hand, gripping his shoulder where he tossed on the air mattress. A warm hand. A living hand. "Alan, wake up! It's over. That's not what happened!"

I know.

The memory was foggy, but there; like a photo, faded by too much sun. Flying. Getting caught, and partly eaten, yet breaking free anyway. Losing his grip on Amon when it looked like the cavalry had saved the day, and being saved by Morgiana with chains of blazing fire...

It didn't eat her. It never did.

"It's over," Aladdin said softly, as Morgan pressed tight enough against Alan's right shoulder to leave a dent with her chin. "We beat it. We finished Al-Thamen. There won't ever be another Medium again. Not ever."

His hands were shaking, even as Alan fisted them in the sheets. Woke Morgan right out of her own bed; how badly did I yell? "Guess I'm just a permanent scaredy-cat."

"Are you kidding? Everybody was scared of that thing! Even Sinbad! He just didn't show it." Aladdin frowned. "Well, maybe not Kouen. But it was between him and knowing how the world started, and he was always kind of crazy about that."

Kouen. That name brought up too many fragmented images. Red flags over a city rebuilt like an alien disease. Choking frustration. Horror, in a way the Medium could never have horrified him. Because the Medium wanted to destroy everything living, but the Kou Empire destroyed people's hopes and dreams and called it peace...

And it was gone again, like broken glass dropped into clear water. Invisible, until he stepped on the sharp edges of memories that weren't his.

Alan freed a hand to touch the metal at his throat, and thought longingly of dark water, and all the things that could be lost in it.

"What are you doing?" Aladdin clamped a hand over his, blue eyes wide in the darkness. "He's your Djinn! You have a contract!"

Morgan's awake. I know she is. Which made this even harder. But Aladdin deserved the truth. "...I can't do this."

The magi let out a patient breath. "You're tired. You're scared. It was a long day, you just need-"

And damn it, he was tired of other people telling him what he needed. "Damn it, Aladdin, I can't do this! I'm not that strong! I'm not that brave-"

Aladdin. The name didn't even sound the same in his ears anymore. A day ago he would have heard Ah-LAD-din, like anyone in the States would say it...

AL'ahdjin.

The smile on the magi's face made it even worse.

Get away.

He couldn't outrun Morgan. He couldn't outrun a crazy flying carpet with an even crazier friendly magi.

He could and did dive under the pillow, hoping beyond hope that the world would just go away. Go back to being sane and normal and predictable in how it hurt him. Because they cared about him, they cared as much as his mother ever had-

And she's dead.

And there was something people weren't telling him, he could feel it any time he went near his - near Mr. Silversmith. Who didn't care about him, damn it, because people who cared about him just gave up and left...

Gave up and died.

He scrunched his eyes shut under cotton-bound stuffing, and tried not to think.

"What's wrong with him?" Morgan's voice was muffled by fabric. But not enough.

"Nightmares." Sheets rustled as Aladdin got off the mattress. "Or... memories. I guess."

Her frown was audible. "I don't have dreams like that."

"You don't?" Aladdin's voice was surprised, and oddly quiet. "You... back then, you had nightmares when you slept alone."

A long pause. "I have nightmares. But not about monsters."

"Oh. Right." And that was a grin in Aladdin's voice. "Fanalis are the monsters' nightmares."

It wasn't quite a giggle, and it wasn't quite a sob. But it hurt, even under the pillow. Alan winced, and forced his face out into the night air. "Are you okay?"

Morgan dragged in a shaky breath. "If you ever. Ever. Try to die to avenge me, my ghost will kick your spine out."

"Yes, ma'am," Alan said automatically, feeling said spine cringe. It obviously knew a threat when it heard one. "Don't worry. If anything ever takes you down, I'm going to fry it from a distance and bring your uncle back the ashes."

And I mean it. Oof.

Morgan seemed to uncoil a little, even as her gaze cut at Aladdin. "That goes for you too."

"Eep?"

Morgan nodded, evidently reassured even Aladdin was taking her seriously. Settled back on the air mattress, close and warm.

Very close. Very warm. "Um," Alan waved a hand, trying to express aren't you getting back in your own bed? without looking like he didn't want her right there. Because he did. A lot. The world was a very scary place and you couldn't get much safer than curling up with a heavily-armed friend. Unless it was two heavily armed friends, because even in the darkness the flutters of rukh outlined Aladdin's wand. "What are you doing?"

"I was just thinking... maybe Ja'far's right," Aladdin said reluctantly. "Amon keeps reaching out to you, and you keep flinching." A whiff of air, like someone whipping mulberry wood at whining mosquitoes. "I think I'd better take a look."

Oh please, no more magic. "It was a nightmare," Alan said firmly. "I have them. Everybody does."

"But-"

"We need to get up in the morning, and go to school. Like normal kids," Alan went on. "Which means we need sleep. And there's other ways to handle things than magic." He scrambled down to the foot of the mattress where his backpack was, and came back with his CD player. Because he wasn't lying. He had nightmares. A lot. They didn't usually feature life-eating monsters from another world...

But a nightmare's a nightmare, Alan told himself. Get the brain latched onto something else.

Emergency musical first aid CD in place. Alan settled the player between them so they could all hear from the headphones, and hit play.

"...Heroes, vagabonds, city of secrets;

"Land of mystery - Open Sesame!"

Eyes closed, Alan let the music take him away.

"Music." Ja'far tried to listen to the magi on his phone, and not the ominous early-morning swishes and thumps that were Simon going through his spare wardrobe. "That's actually a good idea."

Plastic spanged, and Simon muttered something under his breath. Ja'far tried not to sigh. Simon had decreed over breakfast that it would be a grievous breach of responsibility as a king and a principal to let his second in command walk out the door in garb he couldn't work in properly. Completely ignoring said vice-principal's protests that he could get by just fine in ordinary clothes, thank you.

And of course the former actor didn't have anything as innocuous as a closet. No; Simon's apartment was walled with bookshelves, cedar chests, and other odd containers labeled by movie, character, gear, or monster. Solomon only knew what he'd find looking for a shirt in ex-assassin size.

"Music reaches deep parts of the brain, right past the conscious mind into the emotions," Ja'far said briskly. "If that's how Alan likes to self-medicate for nightmares... it's better than most things people do." Self-inflicted insomnia, drinking too much, drugs - people had found a remarkable variety of ways to deal with the monstrous images spawned by their own sleeping minds. Or more accurately, not deal with them.

Music actually did deal with nightmares; at least by breaking up the chain of bad mental associations long enough that someone might have a chance to jump to another train of thought. Sometimes it worked.

Now how do I explain that to a magi of the old world?

"Music's like an aspirin... like willowbark for fever," Ja'far tried. "It doesn't cure anything, but it gives your body a rest so it can try to heal itself. I'll take a look at school today to see if anything worse is going on, but if that was enough for him to sleep, I think you should leave it alone."

"But he wouldn't even let me look!" Aladdin protested.

All right, enough of the soft touch. Bring out the two-by-four. "When I was about his age, my- a group of magicians tried to say there was something wrong with my mind." Ja'far let his voice go very dry. "I didn't take it well."

"Um..."

"No one died," Ja'far stated. "But the fact that someone had already used magic on me, and wanted to do more... I did not take it well. At all."

Aladdin's breath shuddered. "He's hurting. I just- I want to do something."

"You are," Ja'far said firmly. "You're trusting him to take care of himself, and you're there. And if he keels over because something really is wrong, you'll call me immediately."

"R-right."

He's worried. And he has good reasons. "I will explain what I think is going on this afternoon," Ja'far promised. "But the brain is very complicated and I want to be sure I have everything I can on hand to show you exactly what I mean. If Alan does end up needing help, I want you to know what you can do, what you might do, and what you absolutely must not do."

"...Thanks, Ja'far."

Eh? That was real relief there. Not what he'd expected, telling Aladdin to back off.

"I miss Yamraiha," Aladdin admitted. "I learned enough magic to figure out how much I don't know." A deep, steadier breath. "I didn't get to know you very well back then. I'm glad I can do that now. You're a good teacher."

His cheeks were suspiciously hot. "I'd be a lousy one if I didn't tell you to get off the phone, get breakfast, and get going. There's less time until school than you think."

"Right!" Click.

Note, get Alan to teach Aladdin phone etiquette, Ja'far thought, closing his own phone with a bit of rueful relief. "Simon, leave it. I can wear my own shirts."

"No, you can't," Simon said firmly, digging into yet another drawer. "You weren't wrong about not being up to your full fighting trim. Well, you've been letting Malachy, Tiburon, and various dungeon monsters toss you around for days, so you're getting there. And modern dress shirts just aren't cut right for someone who can hang by his fingertips, kick himself up onto a roof, and disembowel a monster in one stroke." Dark eyes raked him, head to foot. "Take it from someone who's had to help poor beleaguered costumers wrestle extras into anything that looked decent. Shoulders matter. Hah!" He pulled out a neat bundle of pale cream-white, shook it out into a surprisingly understated and ruffle-free poet shirt. "Here. Linen, so don't give me any grief about teachers shouldn't wear silk to class. And the cuffs should be loose enough for your blades. Try it."

Damn Sinbad and his unerring aim for weak spots. Simon could get him into almost anything by appealing to, you want to be properly armed, right?

Wait, Ja'far thought, reluctantly taking the shirt. There was something-

"So we're dealing with a several-thousand-years-old case of PTSD?"

"Still an eavesdropper," Ja'far grumbled, pulling linen over his head.

"I've looked after you." Simon's voice was a little gruff. "If his nerves are half as bad as yours were, I'm tempted to fling him at my paperwork and say have fun setting it on fire. Morgan should be okay, she has her family and MacLeas are very good about setting up things for therapeutic smashing. But Alan's been yanked out of his own support system - as you were - and still has to pretend things are more or less fine. As you did. Either we get him to let off the pressure in a slow and contained way, or things go boom. I don't think he'd hurt anyone, but our repair budget is already getting a workout this year."

Linen was cool and loose and familiar; Ja'far pushed back his sleeves, and started winding red cords into place.

"So. This Medium..."

"I'll give you details when we have an hour to spare," Ja'far said briefly. "Whatever it touched, died. People. Trees. Land. The ocean itself. Someone in Djinn Equip could survive a brief encounter, but - it was close. Alibaba was one of the Djinn Warriors who got caught and managed to get free." He tucked steel against skin, testing the draw. Huh. Looked like Simon was right.

"...Everything dying. Even the sea." Simon's voice was oddly quiet. "A hole in the waters, life pouring over the edges like Niagara Falls."

Ja'far glanced up, shock jolting down his nerves. "You remember?"

"I dreamed it." His friend blinked his way back to the present. "Pieces of it, anyway. Horrible hands, and a scream that itched at the inside of your ears. Like it'd eat even sound, if it could. We fought that?"

"You did," Ja'far said steadily. Damn. If Simon's dreaming of any of that... maybe I should let him talk me into staying over nights. "You almost lost."

"So definite Nightmare Fuel." Simon shook his head. "We need to tell Aladdin that what's wrong with Alan is there's nothing wrong with Alan. He's having a perfectly sane reaction to remembering something trying to eat him."

Ja'far settled his sleeves, frowning. "Wanting to get rid of Amon is not a sane reaction-"

"No?" Simon said archly. "Alan is not an idiot. I imagine by now he's finally added up the dates and figured out Amon's attempt to get to Aladdin flattened his host with a life-threatening fever. And then there's this Kouen you two mentioned. Or should I say, mentioned again? Same one you used to bring home to Aladdin how scary an Equip would be to a normal person?" Simon waited for his reluctant nod. "Any relation to the Kou Empire we kidnapped Alibaba from before they could seize his kingdom?"

"The same imperial prince who conquered Balbadd," Ja'far admitted. "Who wrecked its economy to begin with, invaded, took over, and obliterated as much as he could of its culture in the name of world peace under the united Kou Empire." Solomon, how to sum up that mess in a few words... "He brought slavery into Balbadd. I don't think Alibaba ever forgave him for that."

"So he's remembering a person who took over and mutilated the kingdom he was responsible for, while he's just figured out Amon managed to screw up his life so Richard could kidnap him down here. Given how fiercely he's reacted to anyone's attempts to draw him into belonging here, there must be something - or someone - he was forced to leave behind. Someone he's responsible for." Simon ran his fingers through purple locks, and sighed. "Forget the Medium, Ja'far. That was just a nightmare. This is the real problem." He paused, and eyed Ja'far. "What?"

Ja'far shook his head, trying not to stare. "...You're better at this than you used to be."

He wasn't sure what Simon saw in his expression, but he could see the man think better of whatever sarcastic quip he'd meant to make. "Well, I hope so," Simon said instead, just a hint of a smile on his face. "Reincarnation would be so boring if you didn't learn something from the last time around, right?"

Wordless, Ja'far nodded.

"I've always thought people like the Dalai Lama were the ones who really got hung out to dry," Simon reflected. "Get through one life as a spiritual leader, die, get reborn - and then what happens? Do they let you run off to be an acrobat or a lion tamer or even an accountant? No. They track you down while you're still too young to run for it, declare you the reborn high spiritual muckety-muck, and you get stuck in a retread of the same damned routine. Boring," he declared. "Seriously, who'd want to be a king more than once? At least not without a few lives bouncing around the world as a tramp sailor or a belly-dancer first..."

Ja'far couldn't help it. He started laughing. Because that was so Simon.

Not Sinbad, the magician reflected. At least not the Sinbad he had to be then, when the world wanted to cut our throats every day and Al-Thamen was handing out the knives. But if Sinbad had been able to just go to the South Seas, to build Sindria without having to be as vicious as everyone against him, if he could have escaped that horrible mess of the war, and everything that came with it...

Sinbad might have been more like this. And that ached at him, all the joy that had been snatched from their grasp in that world - but he had it now. And it was worth fighting for.

"All right, that size looks like it works for you," Simon reflected. "We'll have to think about colors when we get a few more made; you actually look good in white, instead of washed out, so that's-"

"What?" Ja'far asked, alarmed as Simon leaned right into his personal space. Simon was usually pretty good about that. And he hadn't even had to stab the man to get the lesson across. "Mosquito?" He'd worked tiny charms to dissuade the little beasts on every window and door, but sometimes the bloodsuckers still got through.

"No." Slow and deliberate, Simon reached out to tap the bridge of Ja'far's nose. "You've been holding out on me. Since when do you have freckles?"

What?

Simon frowned, and turned him to face one of the wardrobe mirrors. "Look."

Glass was polished and clear. This close he couldn't miss what had been right under his nose. Or rather, across it.

This... isn't possible...

"We're going to be beating your fangirls off with a stick," Simon mused.

Fangirls? I don't have fangirls. You have fangirls, not- argh. Stunned, Ja'far rubbed at a chocolate-scatter of freckles he'd never had in this life. No, they were not coming off. "I need to talk to Aladdin."

The good thing about roofs was, people just generally didn't look up.

Hot, though. Which I guess at least means things are normal. Alan wiped off sweaty hands, and gripped magic-touched steel. Waited.

Still hot.

Alan took a deep breath, let it out. Okay, free period doesn't last forever, let's do this...

Determined, he reached his will into that pattern of magic.

Just a little, want a small fire, not-

Flames leaped from his hand, a roaring lance at the sky.

Tone. It. Down!

Fingers clamped on steel, and the fire went out.

Alan sighed, and rubbed his head. Too much weapon, not enough tool. I can pull magoi in from a candleflame, why can't I just light that much...

I'm not hot.

Startled, Alan put his free hand down on the school's roof. Held his fingers there, incredulous, as skin that should have turned red and sore stayed cool and pink.

It's like the geyser. I can feel the heat, but I'm not hot. Alan bit his lip, thinking that through with what he'd learned about magic so far. Which means Amon's actually working right now. Taking heat in through me.

...Which means there's magoi moving around me already. Like volatile fumes. And when I add to that - boom.

How do I fix that?

Turning the energy up and down obviously wasn't working yet. He either had roaring flames or nothing. Like a hose turned up full blast, a circuit flipped on or off-

Wait a sec. Alan half-closed his eyes, poking that bit in his physics chapter. Volts equal current times resistance. If volts were like water, it could be a lot of water just flowing slow over a dam... or the same amount pressed down into pinpoints that can etch steel. If I can't change how much energy I'm dealing with - maybe I can focus it.

Don't think candleflame. Think sparkler.

Burning, but not the loose flutter of a wax flame. Tight. Intense. Hissing like a snake, and bright-

Metal shifted in his hand, an ancient dagger limned in crackling gold flame.

"Okay, closer," Alan muttered. "Easy does it... don't push, Aladdin said we were always careful with this. And careful means not tossing fire around like confetti. So..."

Ah, heck. What did anybody do with sparklers?

Grinning, Alan stood, and wrote his name in flames.

Okay, this? Could be fun.

Circles. Spirals. A few pithy comments in K'iche' just to keep his hand in. Slowly tightening and loosening his focus, moving the flames from white-hot and thin to flowing gold and red, and back.

I can do this. It's not going to kill me.

Better yet, he wasn't going to kill anyone else. As long as he could control the flames.

Though... part of it isn't controlling things, Alan admitted, feeling that feather-touch of Amon's presence every time the flames shifted. The fire has to flow. Has to burn. What I need is to know where it's going, so I know where to move...

Moving felt good.

Up, and first form; drift left and right as your opponent stabs, let him wear himself out...

"Forget the cleaving blows, young prince. You don't have the weight for them; you might never. Your mother was a slight lass, and even when your father was well, he fought with agility, not strength. Leave the mountain-blows to a solid lump of a general like me. Be the sea wind, free and deadly. Like the cobra, find the chink in your enemy's armor, and strike!"

He lunged, flames lashing out like fangs.

Barkak... Barkak would have liked that one.

Alan blinked, and shook his head, letting the flames die back so he was holding simple steel again. Barkak? Who was-

Hands over his own; large and callused and patient, folding small fingers into the right grip as many times as it took. Not loving, not anything like his mother's - but solid and confident, determined to pack a lifetime's worth of swordplay into just a few years. A rock when everything else seemed too much; failure earned scowls, success a firm nod, and determination received the faint, pleased smile that made even the lessons on politics and manners bearable. Barkak might not have been kind, but he was consistent.

For a moment it was there, solid as memories of back alleys and hunting through court records for scraps of a story. The next...

No! Please don't go. Please let me keep this one-

Amon stirred.

Help me.

Fire in his head. Fire in his heart. Flames that spun themselves around that memory of warmth and reliability, thin as the gossamer magoi he'd pulled from candleflames...

Flickered away, cooling like a spent match.

Alan made himself breathe, slow and almost steady. Because he could still see those hands, like ghosts of memory; scarred and strong and there.

Barkak. General of the Right. He taught... Alibaba.

I miss him. I...

Alan slapped a palm against his forehead, rubbing it back and forth until the stinging in his eyes stopped. I need to get a grip, god, what time is it-

Behind one of the roof vents, something thumped.

That? Was way too big to be a squirrel.

"All right." The voice was low, familiar, and somehow had learned a few overtones of Tiburon's I have sharpness, you will meet it edge. "Come out of there."

Drat.

Morgan dragged Aladdin out with her; she'd been stalking Alan perfectly soundlessly until he'd swooped in. Literally swooped. She hadn't known he could use the turban to fly without unfolding it.

Alan's hand moved away from his sword, shoulders slumping in relief. "You guys. I didn't think anyone else would be up here."

"I wanted to be sure you were okay," Morgan explained. "I didn't know if anyone had checked the roof. And Callimachus knows we can fly." She blushed, glancing away. "And the fire was pretty."

"That was really cool!" Aladdin slipped out of her grip, eyes wide and eager. "I didn't get to see you figure out Amon the first time. How'd you do that?"

"Physics." Alan was blinking, as if he were just as stunned as Morgan felt. "What do you mean, how? I thought you knew about Djinn."

"I know Djinn. It's not the same thing," Aladdin shrugged. "I'm a magi. I use spells, not Metal Vessels. And..."

Alan waited. Morgan eyed their younger yet more ancient friend, hoping he wasn't going to try to dodge the question.

"The rukh looks a little different around you than what I remember." Aladdin's hand reached back to brush his wand. "I think you'd have to start over anyway. Amon must be as frustrated as you are."

"He shouldn't be." Morgan walked closer to Alan, hands out to feel swirls of heat lingering in layers of air. "Uncle Tiburon will want to see that." And I want to see more of it.

Alan had looked so happy, writing with fire. For those minutes she'd seen tension and worry lift, lost in the flow of, this is me. This is what I do.

That flow was why she wasn't walking on mental tiptoes, after the nightmares they'd had. The flow was the mind's best medicine. To do and be in that one moment, neither captive of the past nor fearful of the future - that was healing.

Not just for Alan. Seeing him with flames... it made her heart beat faster.

"Right now, there aren't any lords or commoners. This is a dungeon! Everyone has to fight for their lives here! Go home if you're scared, boy!"

"I tried to forget, but my body remembers..."

"You should do whatever you want, forever!"

Flames and golden eyes and a smile Morgan wanted to wrap around her like a warm blanket. Whatever darkness had been in their pasts, those eyes had looked at her and seen not a monster, but a friend.

He's going to be okay. We're going to be okay.

Well. From that faint sound, they would be, so long as they got moving. "We need to get down from here," Morgan told them. "My cousins said they might start early."

"Who might?" Aladdin asked. Then whipped his head east, as the buzzing got loud enough for normal ears to hear.

"A drone?" Alan whistled. "Thanks. Definitely don't need to get caught on camera again-"

"Uncle Simon say just brazen it out, no matter what magic we just did," Aladdin said firmly. "I think it's a good idea."

Morgan cleared her throat, as humming engines got closer, a bobbing black array of turbines and a camera. "Ianatan says the problem isn't the tech club. It's-"

"Loose!"

Arrows whipped through the air as the drone ducked and wove, one or two shafts glancing off black armor.

"-The archery club," Morgan finished. "Every year Tech tries to build more arrow-proof drones, and the archers get to be better shots at moving targets." She tapped her toe, very gently, on the roof.

Alan eyed the obvious patches underfoot, and almost laughed. "Guess we better get the point before we get the points." Cupped both hands around his mouth. "Oi! Robin Hood! Check behind your targets!"

"What are you guys doing up there?"

Morgan smirked, and took a deep breath. "Fireworks!"

The echoes rang off walls and the tower, startling up stray doves. For a moment, she thought the ball lightning at its tip flickered red.

"Ow..."

Morgan reddened, as Alan wiggled a finger in his ear and Aladdin sat down with swirly eyes. "...Oops?"

"Who needs Sound Magic?" Aladdin muttered, still wobbling.

"Who needs phones?" Alan was still smiling. "Come on, I found some good handholds down-"

Morgan watched him pick up his pack, and wrestled with temptation. Brazen it out, huh?

One jump. One snatch.

"-Aaaaaiiieeee!"

Grinning, Morgan leaped off the roof, Alan clinging for dear life.

Oh yes. This is fun.

That kid is insane.

Perched in a live oak with binoculars and her best camouflage gear, Phaenomena watched a drone get skewered by an arrow painted in deadly red and black, and hoped her scent-hiding tricks held up. Then again, maybe it's something in the water. "Say again?"

"I said," one of her chief contacts and more or less local ears to the ground drawled, "you're not seriously going after someone in Hancock High, are you, sheila? Because while the brats in there might look all rich and soft targets, the teachers are some of the scariest things this side of an angry saltie."

Phaenomena shifted minutely against gray bark; there were an incredible variety of ants down here and she still wasn't sure which ones bit when grumpy and which ones were just plain homicidal. "You've met them?"

"Everyone's met Cavins." Jeff's eye-roll was clear through the phone, dramatic sigh and all. "Y' can't go near the place without spotting purple hair. S'pose that's a good thing. Like an anemone. 'Here I am, I'm dangerous to your life, limb, an' sanity, so bugger off'." Another sigh. "Seriously, m'lady, that place is weird as a rugby bat. It's not something y' can put a finger on, it's just... odd. Hollywood. You know. Cavins is flat-out stark staring bonkers, an' no one seems to mind. Then again, kids seem to come out of the place all right and knowing their three R's, and that's a patch on a lot of places. And he runs off the predators. Which, good on him. Plenty of stuff that'll mess a body up in our world, don't need some rat bastard chomping brats and starting another Satanic panic. Gets so a man can't go out looking for a Skunk Ape on a Saturday night without being hauled over by a cranky officer of the law."

"Runs off the predators?" Phaenomena said curiously. She'd seen enough news reports to know how easy it could be for someone with ill intent to grab the usual minor. Not that their targets were any usual minors. "How does he know they're there?"

"Follows the trail of banana peels and open manholes, most like," Jeff said wryly. "Go over the Hancock line when you're not asked in, and bad things happen to you. I know a few blokes who'd give their eyeteeth to know how Cavins manages it... if it's magic. Can't be sure. A lot of it's no more magic than a few instructors with sharp eyes and sharper blades. You go to a con sometime, you can see Tiburon demonstrate what he can do with a katana. It's enough to make a man fear for his three-piece service."

Phaenomena stifled the urge to snicker.

"But seriously, lass," Jeff went on, "that place isn't worth the effort of a guy like your Magister. Someone with real magic, not just a few might-works like me and the lads? There's nothing there at Hancock. Why are you even poking that termite nest, eh?"

A bluebird magician and a Fire Prince, Phaenomena thought grimly.

Because damn it, crazy as it sounded, she couldn't ignore what she'd seen with her own eyes. Yesterday, and just now.

That kid was playing with fire. Like... like magoi that'd take Magister Callimachus a week to gather was just something to burn through in an afternoon.

That amount of power in the hands of a teenager. Worse, in the hands of three teenagers, given the Red Lioness girl and... Ala'-adin. Whatever he was. It gave her the shivers, even in this heat.

What is he?

Even the Magister didn't know. But some of the oldest, rarest stories of the Fire Prince had more than just his Red Lioness lover by his side. They painted in a young boy, a young magician, with hair as dark as wine and sky. A magi, who'd saved the Prince when he was still lost and unknown, and guided him to waking the fire of the gods.

The Light in Dark Places, Phaenomena thought, reviewing what little the ancient lore had in common. The royal son who descends into the Underworld to save those lost to darkness and hate. The warrior against Al-Thamen, who stood against their hate to the last. An Orpheus who actually pulled it off... except for the last time.

Because there the legends agreed: the Fire Prince and his beloved had gone into the darkness one final time, and never returned.

But they will return, storytellers vowed. Darkness was sealed away in darkness, and the Fire Prince still walks the long road in the shadows. Yet one day, when our need is greatest, flames shall light the sky. And the Fire Prince and his beloved will rise, to lead those lost back to the light.

Classic Sleeping King story. Phaenomena could name a half-dozen of them with her eyes closed. And yet...

That kid broke Fomoire chains.

Because that was one of the odder parts of the legend, if you dug at it. Slavery had been part of the ancient world no matter where you went. Even the Sinbad tales told of slaves in the arena of gladiators, and worse things.

The Fire Prince broke her chains, and swore she would never be a slave again.

Phaenomena eyed an orange-and-brown ant legging its way across her arm, and carefully flicked it off. Jeff was waiting for an answer. And he deserved an honest one. Just not all of it. "It looks like one of the students there might be unexpectedly talented."

"Roight," Jeff drawled. "And it's nothing to do with the fact that where the rest of us see great glaring blobs of pain, you see a bloody huge ball of fun."

"You know me so well," Phaenomena smirked. Her battle with the Fire-Mouse had been abruptly called by flying carpet, and trying to play it smart with the Fomoire chains had meant she hadn't gotten the chance to pit herself against the Red Lions in the school. Now - well, the Magister's plans came first, but she itched to get her hands on someone who'd try to fight back. "So which of Hancock's instructors are the dangerous ones?"

"Whoof." Aladdin leaned on one of the biology classroom desks in the quiet after school, looking down at the various diagrams of brains and nerves Ja'far had spread out to illustrate his points. "This is... wow. More complicated than magic."

Good, Ja'far thought, relieved. If he knows it's tricky, he'll be a little less ready to rush in. "If you think about it, it has to be. Our brains are how we do magic. How could we learn to command the rukh if our tools for using it weren't up to the challenge?"

"Although commanding your own magoi can be even trickier than that," Simon observed, seated on top of Ja'far's desk to get a good look at everything they were doing. And provide moral support. Or so he claimed.

Morals. Right, Ja'far thought dryly. Though he wouldn't deny that having Simon there when Aladdin had looked into him with Solomon's Wisdom had been the only thing keeping him from screaming and running out the door. He was a creature of shadows, he knew it, and Aladdin's rukh had been so bright...

Simon cleared his throat, bringing Ja'far back to the present. "According to Ja'far," Simon said thoughtfully, "once a magician figures out a spell, another magician can cast it from the list of rukh commands, with a minimum of tweaking."

"Pretty much," Aladdin agreed, shoulders straightening with relief at being on familiar ground. "It depends on what your primary element is, and what the spell uses. But once you've got the base spell, you can get something to work." He tilted his head, curious. "Magoi manipulation's different?"

"It involves a lot more biofeedback," Simon agreed, light glinting off his earrings like flecks of diamond. "It's like... hmm. Say magic is like swimming. Everyone learns the same strokes, or how to float, and you do it in much the same way. It's muscles and will, and every human body has those. Magoi manipulation is more like controlling your own heartbeat."

Blue eyes widened. "You can do that?"

"As a matter of fact, I can," Simon admitted. "I'd rather not talk about it in public. People end up thinking the strangest things when you say you can slow your own heart down, and if they're going to spread rumors I'd rather they were wondering about whose bed I was in this week. That doesn't hurt anyone."

"Doesn't hurt them," Ja'far said, half under his breath. "I still think I should stab a few reporters. On general principles." He touched a diagram of the brainstem. "But it's that heartbeat level of manipulation we need to talk about. Because between Baal's wyverns adding to our magoi, and the influence of the dungeon itself so that everyone's started remembering bits of who they were, what they could do... that's manipulating the mind and soul at a very deep level, Aladdin. I've had experience with - something like that. It had side effects. I really hope Baal knows what he's doing."

Aladdin blinked, and looked at him, in a way even more intense than the light of Solomon's Wisdom. "Did someone hurt you?"

"They didn't mean to." Because it was true; they hadn't meant his younger self harm. It'd just - happened. "It's a custom in the Magnos Clan. To use the rukh to reclaim ancient memories of those who used magic, and save spells lost to time and death." Ja'far paused, and made himself shrug. "They thought the past life they would find would be another magician. It always had been before."

"But you were a Household Member. Not a magician." Aladdin was just a little pale. "You were used to using your magoi the way Simon does, the way Alan does... ow."

"And we think it's that ow Alan is running up against," Simon stepped in. "If I understand what's going on, the Magnos spell brings back ancient memories by awakening those bits of the rukh that carry them. A Djinn works with the rukh and magoi of his king, meaning since Amon is most familiar with Alibaba, he's having a similar effect, resonating with those memories. On top of that, Baal's thrown even more magoi at us, which is acting like mystical superglue-"

"Superglue?" Ja'far sputtered.

"Do you have a better description?" Simon arched a majestic violet brow. "It's filling in the cracks and binding together who we were with who we are. And not always by paying attention to what bits ought to go where."

Ja'far clapped a hand to his forehead in disbelief. "Superglue."

"Am I wrong?"

"I wish you were," Ja'far muttered, and lifted his hand to look Aladdin in the eye. "He has a point. Between the dungeon and the wyverns, the awakened rukh is all tangled up in our current magoi. We can't separate them out."

"But..." Aladdin's fingers traced over layman's neurology, daunted. "They're still all you, right?"

"They are," Ja'far allowed, "but memories work by links. That scent is fish at the docks, which leads to the fleet's in, which leads to how did the day's catch go, were there trading vessels spotted, were there pirates? One to another to another, like links in a chain, threads on a spiderweb. The magic affecting us is adding extra links randomly. Which means we can't always access them when we need to, and sometimes we access them when we don't want to."

"You mean... like Alan remembering Kouen, and what he did to Balbadd." Aladdin winced. "But that's over-"

"Yes and no." Ja'far kept his voice steady. "It's not like Solomon's Wisdom. When you look at the rukh for answers, you may not understand what you see, but you at least know you're looking at someone else's memory. When the spell - when a past life is revived," damn it, he would say this, it was his friends at risk, "there's no control. There's no barrier between you and the past. It's all one insane indigestible lump, of everything you see dumped into everything you think you are. And - when the memories are strong..."

Simon's hand gripped his shoulder. "It's a mess," the principal said firmly.

Aladdin nodded, determined. "So there's two problems. We have to get the pieces into the right places, and..." He hesitated, thinking. "If you drop a rock into water, it splashes. But if you can lower it in slowly - then you just get ripples."

Simon chewed that over. Glanced at Ja'far, brows arched in silent question.

"Buffer the memories, somehow?" Ja'far turned that idea over in his mind. "The clan spell takes a lot of power. The only way to make it work, even with a group of magicians, is to form the magoi into a needle that pierces between the past and the present-"

"Ja'far." Aladdin's smile had just a trace of patient, impish glee. "I'm a magi."

Oh.

He had to lean on his own desk, letting that sink in. A magi casting the clan spell. All the power in the world, if they needed it.

"We can rewrite the spell." Ja'far straightened, looking at Simon in silent wonder. "It would take some time, but - there are ways it could be made gentler. Like pressing a sponge, instead of stabbing with a needle... no, that's not saying it right-"

Simon held up empty hands; stop. "Write it down and put your heads together. You can fix it?"

"I think we can make it safer," Ja'far said cautiously. "We are piercing the veil death and time have laid between lives. I doubt there would be any way to make it safe."

"Safer is good." Simon gripped his shoulder again. "As for misplaced pieces, I think we should treat it like any other mental shock. Establish a routine, one that uses magic and weapons at one time and modern skills at another, so we can let things fall into place on their own. Which would be a lot easier if we could find Callimachus and beat some sense into his head..."

Ja'far very carefully did not finger his knives. He was working on glass-shard amulets that would warn their wearers if the alchemist came near, and he'd managed to set up mystical tripwires that would grab, hold, and possibly eviscerate Callimachus if he crossed onto Hancock land. Because anyone who'd unleashed magoi-draining chains on an entire school to take down one target did not deserve the benefit of the doubt. Though Alan and Aladdin would probably try.

Alan might even succeed, Ja'far reflected. I don't want Simon to have to kill. Better if it's me.

Better yet if it were none of them. Forensic science had come a long way since the days of dropping corpses off a Partevian wharf. If they could convince Callimachus to just go away - it would be better. Really.

We'll see. One way or another.

"Anyway," Simon sighed. "That's two difficulties potentially dealt with. The problem is, we have a third."

"We do?" Aladdin's brows drew down, worried. "What?"

Simon's brows went up. Then he shrugged, and gave a showman's wave of hands, presenting Ja'far. "I actually think the freckles are quite becoming. But apparently Ja'far's objecting to having even more reasons to beat young ladies off with a stick-"

"Dealing with smitten underage girls is not the problem," Ja'far gritted out, face burning. "The problem is biology."

Simon's face was almost innocent. "Yes, well, when you're dealing with teenagers the problem usually is biology-"

"Sin!"

Ja'far saw his friend start, and blanched. Oh Solomon. What did I just-

"It's all right, you know." Simon smiled, just a little bittersweet. "I don't mind."

"I do," Ja'far stated. "You're you, Simon. I never wanted you to be anyone else." Except when he was alone and lonely among family turned strangers; but that didn't matter. "Aladdin. I don't know what Ugo taught you about biology. On this world we only found it out fairly recently. But certain tissues in the body are related, and what affects one has implications for what's happening to another. In this case, your skin is related to your eyes, and your brain-"

"And your hair?" Simon was leaning closer to him, almost off-balance on the desk.

"Yes, why- Simon!" Ja'far batted at the hand ruffling his hair. "If you want to pet someone-"

"Ja'far." Simon's gaze was serious. "Stand still. Aladdin?"

"...Oh." Aladdin stood on tiptoes to get a good look, then sank back down into his sandals. "Um. I didn't do it?"

"Do what?" Ja'far demanded, trying not to get too distracted by Simon's hand in his hair. The man was just... clingy would imply Simon couldn't get along without touching people. He could. But he saw no reason not to touch, even when various pointy things had been aimed at him.

Simon gave him a deliberate grin. "I've been accused of turning people's hair white, but this is the first time I've ever seen it."

Urk.

There were little mirrors in the lab, the better to angle light into bits of plant or other things they were studying. It didn't take long to find what Simon had seen.

Not just freckles. White roots. That's... Ja'far put the mirror down before he dropped it. "You had more formal magical education than I have." He tried to rein in the glare he turned on Aladdin. Really. "What is going on?"

"I really wish Sphintus was here." Aladdin closed his eyes, putting one hand out to let rukh flutter in, land, and sing to him. "I think I know what it is, sort of, but..."

Hands clenched, Ja'far tried to listen himself. It wasn't his best skill, though his clan had done their best to teach him what they could. All he could hear around himself was the usual minor healing, setting things right that the rukh fussed with when he'd been injured. That was one advantage of being a Life magician; even if you didn't know you were in a hazardous environment - like, oh, say, being a youngster in Chernobyl - the rukh perceived the danger, and helped guide your magoi to keep you alive.

"Huh." Aladdin nodded, cupping a few silvery motes in his hands. "Here. Listen to them."

Ja'far wiped his fingers on his sleeves, then held his hands above Aladdin's singers.

Alive-and-well, birdlike sparkles sang. Which didn't tell him anything he didn't already know-

"Patience." Simon's hand rested on his shoulder. "What do you tell your students when they're banging their heads against something that doesn't work?"

Calm down, Ja'far told himself. Take a breath. Look at the problem again.

Or in this case, listen.

Alive-and-well...

Notes inside notes; subtle harmonics that built on each other, listened to each other, pushed and gently pulled and transmuted what-was to what-should-be. Only the music they were building wasn't the life-song he'd known since he was born. Not quite. He could still hear himself in it, but weaving through the melody were the drumbeats of an older song.

"You miss who you were," Aladdin said quietly. "It sounds like you miss it a lot."

Not good. "Who I was," Ja'far said deliberately, "was someone who'd been half-starved and almost completely poisoned for the first eleven years of my life. Even after decades in Sindria, I still had a lot of toxins in my system." Partly because it was habit, ingesting mithridatic doses to keep up his resistance just in case some damn idiot or Al-Thamen dupe managed to sneak poison into the palace. In which case at least one General of Sindria would be alive to murder them all. "Bringing that back would be damaging, and potentially suicidal. I don't think humans on this world have half the poison tolerance of a Sham Lash infant-"

"Do you know how the poisons work?" Aladdin's eyes were grave, and for once completely serious.

"I- yes." Like no one in this world, or the last one. He'd been the chief of the Sham Lash. As Simon might put it, you didn't earn that rank by collecting boxtops.

"Will you let me look at that?" Aladdin swallowed. "I know... it won't be pretty. But I think we can fix this so you won't get hurt." He lifted his hands a little, so they were both touching the singing motes. "I don't even think it will be that hard. They're trying to fix you. We just need to make sure they're careful about how they do it."

Fix me. When Simon had tried so hard to convince him he wasn't broken. Just different.

I won't give that up. Not ever.

"Zmiinyi," Ja'far got out. "If you're going to talk the rukh into anything - my birth name is Zmiinyi."

He could hear Simon hold his breath.

Simon speaks enough Ukrainian to get by. He knows "poisonous serpent".

Aladdin nodded, as if he knew exactly how rare that trust was.

He's a magi. He might.

"I really liked Kulkulcan," Aladdin told him. "Sphintus' cobra. If he ever bit someone for real, Sphintus would have had to work fast, or they'd be dead. But because he was that venomous, he didn't have to bite anyone. All he had to do was spread his hood, and people got smart and got out of there." His smile was bright; not an optimistic child, but someone who knew he was dealing with danger, and trusted it to stay its hand. "That's you. I think it's a good name."

From the way Simon had started breathing again behind them, he thought it was, too.

"So," Ja'far assayed, "how do we- No. Wait." Because now he knew where he'd heard those odd harmonics before. In a crackle of hidden flames, as he'd looked over a scorched soul. "Alan-"

"First rule of in-flight emergencies." Simon thumped off the desk and bumped his shoulder. "Put the oxygen mask on yourself first."

"First we fix you," Aladdin agreed. "What's happening to you is you. It's only a problem because the different pieces are all mixed up and pulling different directions instead of working together like they could. Once we help get that straightened out, your rukh should be able to handle it from there. Alan... part of that's Amon. And I'm going to need your help."

A/N: Vipera nikolskii, aka the "forest-steppe adder". Venomous, but like most adders they tend to be shy and only bite when cornered.

CI - Confidential informant. Not what a reporter wants to be considered, at all...

"1001 Nights" by Chipz. Fits the more upbeat parts of the Magi adventures to a T!